Dance With Death
by SongOfStars
Summary: "I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second! That I am one of them." (Takes place after 'The Reichenbach Fall) Sherlock has a darkness within him that Moriarty never knew he had. Contains traditional pairings of S/I & J/M
1. Chapter 1

**Dance With Death**

**Disclaimers: **Hmm do I own anything? Interesting question.

**AN:** This is based on Sherlock BBC with Benedict/Martin, but an AU. Takes place after "The Reichanbach Fall" & will contain dark themes/magic. (Inspired by the picture shown here actually.)

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**Summary:** "I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second! That I am one of them."

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**(1) I Walk Alone**

Sherlock was flying through the air in one direction. Downward. John tried to run around the building, not knowing what to do. Catch his friend before he hit the ground? Cushion his fall? Whatever. John knew there was no time but he had to try something. Anything.

Something slammed into him almost the same moment he heard the sickening thud of Sherlock's body slamming the cement. John went down hard.

Next moment he was sitting upright in bed. John shook his head & buried his face in his hands. "Not again. Not that dream again!" He looked at the clock. It was 4:35 AM. He habitually checked the date even though he knew what it was. That dream always came on that date in mid June. It was three years precisely since Sherlock had killed himself before John's very eyes.

John got up, put on the tea, went to the washroom for a quick shower & then sat in his chair, tea forgotten in the pot. Alone. He stared across the room at nothing. It was his routine every day; though, this day was much earlier than usual. He had tried several times to get out of the slump he was stuck in but soon gave up. His therapist had told him that there was probably one way to move forward but John stubbornly refused to do it.

"Go back to the flat, John," she had said. "Perhaps seeing it will help you come to terms with this. Keep in touch."

John had done neither. He did feel a growing guilt for not even checking on Mrs. Hudson. Was she even still alive? Well, maybe he could do that much for the kindly old lady. Check up on her at least. He didn't have to go into the actual flat right? Lestrade had checked in on him often enough. John should start looking into how other friends of Sherlock were doing.

"Dammit!" John grabbed his cane & left his suite. He had moved to a small room in his sister's home in Cardiff & had never gone back. Harriet & Clara had both tried to help him. It was enough to have the little room to himself.

Harriet heard her brother thump through the house & got up. "Hamish, what are you doing at this time?"

John glanced around. "Nothing. Can't sleep. It's that time again you know."

Harry swished back her mahogany hair over her shoulders. "What am I going to do with you?" She took her brother's hand & pulled him close.

"What am I going to do with me?" John muttered into her shoulder. "I can't … heal …Harry. I just can't."

"Time heals everything."

"It's been three years!" John shot back, pushing away.

"So it'll be another three years," Harriet said. "Or even three more. I'll hang on to you until then."

John half smiled at his sister, feeling bad for shoving her off. "Thanks." After a moment of silence, he added, "I was thinking, I ought to go see Mrs. Hudson. I don't know why but, I haven't been very good to her. Never once called or checked up on her."

"She's still running her apartment block," Harriet said.

"She is? You?"

"Someone has to keep tabs on everything while you're healing," Harriet crossed her arms. "I told you, I'll hang on to you as long as is needed."

"Thanks."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," John waved her away with one hand. "I kind of miss the old lady."

Harriet half-smiled before asking, "Are you going to visit Sherlock today too?"

John glared at her. "I won't be caught dead in that cemetery! I only went that one time with Mrs. Hudson & that was it."

"That's why you can't heal," Harriet glared right back. "You're still angry!"

"Damn straight I am!" John exclaimed. "We had a fine life running about England. I told him several times that day he jumped to seek help with his brother Mycroft. Oh Gods, Mycroft! I haven't even thought of him until now. If Sherlock had just swallowed his damned stubborn pride, he wouldn't be daisy food this very moment! Why didn't he just listen to me?"

Harriet turned to enter the bedroom again as Clara came looking for her. Harriet put one arm around her mate's waist & held her close. Clara's raven hair fell loosely down to her hips. "Are you alright John?"

"Fine!" John replied flatly. "Sorry I woke both of you."

"I know what day it is," Clara said. "I understand."

"All I want to do is wring Sherlock's neck & demand of him, why?" John said under breath, turning on his heel to head for the living room.

John flopped onto the futon & sighed. He dozed off until it was about 5:30 AM & then took an early cab into London. It was late in the morning by the time he arrived. He stood on the steps staring up at the familiar place for several minutes before going to the door. He was just checking on Mrs. Hudson. That was all.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson gaped before grabbing him tightly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm…sorry I didn't check up on you sooner."

"Your sister has been keeping me updated on you," Mrs. Hudson pulled him inside her own flat. "How are you?"

"I don't know," John shrugged. "I still have nightmares of that day."

Mrs. Hudson bustled about her kitchen, fixing some tea & biscuits. She sat down at the table as the water boiled. "Would you like to visit the flat?"

"What? Oh, no," John shook his head. "I don't want to bother whoever else is there now."

"No one is," Mrs. Hudson said. "Everything is as it was. All your old things. His to, still in the boxes I put them in. But with a lot of dust on it all, I'm sure."

"Dust is eloquent," John whispered to himself. "You didn't rent it out again?"

"I couldn't bear to," She got up to take the water off the burner, forcing back a need to start crying. "You can go back any time you like."

"No I can't do that," John accepted the teacup she offered. "I just came to see you. Have you ever heard anything from Mycroft?"

"No," Mrs. Hudson sat down again with her own teacup. "But for Greg & your sister, I didn't really keep tabs on anyone. I've gone to see him a couple more times though. Sherlock I mean."

"Oh I never went back," John said. "I wonder if Mycroft ever goes there?"

"I'm sure he does," Mrs. Hudson passed over a biscuit. "Though, I've never run into him yet. He's probably out there somewhere, working the government to his wishes as usual."

John laughed softly, thinking of the first time he had ever met the man with the brolly & wondering what that man was doing now.

Mycroft stood up shaking his head. "Are you insane?"

"Mycroft! We have to tell him."

"Sherlock, Sherlock," Mycroft cupped the youngest Holmes brother's face in both his hands. "When we first had this discussion, I thought you simply meant to tell John that you faked it all just to get at Moriarty. We're not telling him anything other than that."

Sherlock shoved his brother's hands away. "I'm not taking no for an answer! I've been watching him theses past few months. He's acting just like how one of them would act when they feel like they've lost everyone. Mycroft you know he has the gene."

"It's dormant."

"It can be activated easily & without warning," Sherlock crossed his arms, glaring. "Not knowing would make him dangerous."

"It can't be activated that easily & knowing could make him just as dangerous," Mycroft returned flatly. "You just keep watching him. Go back as that Consulting Detective persona you seem to like so well if you wish. But don't bring him into this. Ever."

"He's a Watson!" Sherlock thumped his foot.

"We've been betrayed by a Watson before, remember?" Mycroft glared.

"Only once," Sherlock said. "In all the time we've ever known that family, only once & that Watson was basically tricked into betraying us to begin with. Mycroft. Bring him to me. Now!"

"My brother, you have no sense! You act like you do but you don't!"

"I've found something while disabling Moriarty's web," Sherlock defended. "If it ever gets back to John, he will be affected by this."

"Sherlock, that gene has been dormant in the Watson family for generations," Mycroft said. "John wouldn't know about it by now except in legends. Urban myths. There is very little chance of him becoming fully aware. Especially if you keep him busy on those little cases like you used to do. Away from…from them."

Sherlock thumped his glass onto the table. "Either you bring him to me or I will go over there myself. Mycroft, I won't let another Watson hurt you or anyone else in this family. John's ok. He'll be fine."

Mycroft sighed heavily. "We need to have a family meeting about this first."

"Fine, I'm still telling John eventually."

"Due to the last Watson's betrayal, our sister was nearly destroyed," Mycroft said.

"That was ages ago."

"We never came in contact with that family again," Mycroft said. "Until you screwed up & picked up one of them for a flatmate a few years ago."

"That was purely an accident, or perhaps a coincidence," Sherlock defended. "Mike Stamford set us up."

"I know," Mycroft rubbed his brow with two fingers.

"I've been with John for a few years," said Sherlock. "I've been watching him even now. He's nothing like that one."

"You had better be right about him!" Mycroft held an accusing finger in Sherlock's face.

"I am."

"Let me talk to the others first."

"Fine."

Mycroft spent the next few days rounding up the Holmes family. It was only the four of them. Besides Mycroft & Sherlock, there was also Enola their baby sister, even younger than Sherlock & the eldest, Sherrinford. Sherlock appeared quite bored with the conversations, often picking or buffing at his nails. The only words he would offer were the same threat. He would tell John eventually so deal with it.

Sherlock headed down the hall to the stairs, past medieval murals on the right-hand wall of knights in shining armor. He was halfway up when he heard someone calling to him. He glanced down to find Enola at the bottom of the stairwell. "What do you want?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing!" Enola came up the stairs to stand beside him. She fiddled with a silk shawl draped over her shoulders & pushed a row of bracelets up her right arm.

"Ever the Gypsy Princess."

"How astute of you," Enola slapped his shoulder. "I try to stay away from this crap as much as I can."

"You can't though," Sherlock protested. "It's in your blood."

"That is so not funny William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

"I thought it was," Sherlock snickered at her.

"Do you want to destroy me or something?" Enola got right to the point.

"John won't do that," Sherlock said. "It'll be fine. It's ok Enola. He won't try to kill you."

"You're really stuck on that guy, aren't you?"

"Holmes & Watson used to be the strongest families when together," Sherlock explained. "John isn't a traitor. Not like…like him at all."

Enola lifted her wrap to cover her head before answering. "To this day I can't stand to have …his name…spoken around me. Not after what that creature did!"

"That's why I didn't mention it."

"Are you sure about this friend of yours?"

"Enola if he so much as looks at you in a way you don't like, let me know," Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll take care of him."

Enola looked up & down the stairs, thinking. "Fine. But don't make me regret this, or I'll be taking care of you."

"Noted!" Sherlock took a step back from his baby sister's violet stormy glare. Enola headed back downstairs without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**(2) Tricksters**

"John Hamish Watson!" Harriet called out for the third time. "Get over here or you won't eat!"

"Seriously woman!" John shouted back. "I'll be there in a moment." He turned back to a few papers he had lying on his table. There were bits of their last case together. The one that destroyed Sherlock. To this day, John couldn't figure out why the children were terrified of Sherlock…apart from the obvious 'Good Lord it's Sherlock Holmes' feel any body got when he walked into the room. John had slowly been working on it, trying to clear his friend's name at least post-mortem.

"John. John!" His sister's cries became more frantic.

"Yes alright!" John pushed the case files into his drawer, got up & headed to the dining room. "I'm not even hungry." He sat down, pouting.

"You're thin," Harry slammed his plate in front of him. "Eat! That's an order." She turned away, not wanting to argue.

"Just because you were born seven minutes before me," John scowled at Harry's way of pulling 'eldest sibling so shut up & listen to me' card on him.

"Just remember where your head was those first nine months," Harry shot back before sharing a snicker with Clara. John stared horrified at them.

"Oh please, how could she not tell me?" Clara laughed. "The six-nine position, then you come out last ... butt first." The girls doubled over in hysterics as John pinched the bridge of his nose, face redder than a strawberry.

"Aww come on little brother," Harry went serious & laid a soothing arm across his shoulders. "You know I love you." She pulled away. "You know you'll always be the 'butt end' of my jokes!"

"SHUT UP!" John shot to his feet & actually growled through gritted teeth. Harry & Clara merely hung on to each other, crying. "I'm telling Mum!"

"Go right ahead," Harry was still snickering. "That just proves you're the baby." John glared, then sat back down without another word. Once he had started eating, Harry went on, "We need to go into town. Do a bit of shopping. You're coming John. Don't argue. We may need help carrying some grocery bags to the car."

"Whatever," John was still mad.

"Mum will meet us at the mall," Harry added. "You can whine all you like then."

John didn't say much to Harry when they were out; though, they both played 'best behaviour' once their mother had joined. John did get his revenge when they stopped at a restaurant for lunch. While their mother was at the counter ordering, he turned the conversation back to what had happened at the breakfast table. He said in a louder voice so strangers nearby could hear, "Well my dear sister, did you enjoy it as much as I with my cock in your mouth?" After a glare, he went on, "What? A little incest never hurt any body." He grinned, noting the stares from people at other tables.

"The womb!" Harry shot back. "In the womb! No, no. He's my twin. We were curled around each other is all."

"Yeah in a six-nine," John was still smiling evilly at her.

"Only in the womb!" She hoped to make it clear to anyone who overheard that they were twins. John just grinned wider.

"I haven't seen you smile in three years," Clara leaned over to whisper.

Harry instantly stopped glaring as she leaned back. "So it worked, didn't it? We finally made you smile. Granted it was embarrassing but we made you smile."

"Here comes Mum," John fussed with his napkin, thoroughly cowed.

Once they had finished lunch together, Mrs. Watson went her own way. John raised one brow at his sister. It wasn't over yet. He got up & led Harry & Clara to the car. Parked next to their car was a long black limousine.

Mycroft was leaning against it, arms folded. "Ladies," he nodded quickly to them. "Doctor Watson, come with me. I'll bring you home later."

John stared at the ground a moment before looking up at Mycroft. "I'm sorry. I should have called or something."

"Yes, that would have been nice," Mycroft got right to the point. "Your sister has been keeping me updated on you." He opened the door to the back seat, indicating that John should get in. Once the doctor did so, Mycroft turned to the women. "Don't wait up for him. He'll be staying the night. I'll bring him back sometime tomorrow."

"Take it easy on him, Mr. Holmes," Harry said as she unlocked her own car. She got into the driver's side. "Well, I wonder what he wants?" She asked once Clara had gotten in as well & the limo had driven away.

John sat back in his seat. He was alone as Mycroft had taken the front seat next to his driver. The window suddenly opened between them. John waited a bit but when Mycroft didn't say anything, he leaned forward. "How have you been doing?"

"I'm quite fine," Mycroft said. "John I actually am. There's something you need to know. Quite a few things really which is why you'll be staying over night."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not in the way you're thinking, no," Mycroft answered. "John, how are you about handling things that seem unreal yet exist?"

"If I see it, I'll believe it," John shrugged. "I guess."

"Good," Mycroft said. "Very good. Make yourself comfortable. This will be a long drive."

"Your home isn't that far."

"My home is no where near where you think it is," Mycroft said. "I'm taking you to the castle."

"A castle? You?"

"Been in the Holmes family for a very long time. The grounds are quite extensive. My little estate I use for the Service could fit on it seven times over."

"Should I be scared?" John half-laughed.

"Yes."

John stopped laughing & sat back. Mycroft was behaving oddly. John ran things through his head. Had he done something to gain the attention of the British Secret Service in a bad way? Perhaps Mycroft was trying to bail him out as a favor. He sat back & closed his eyes, trying to think.

The limo made its way deeper into the country. Mycroft was right. They weren't going to the Holmes estate John was used to when Sherlock was alive. John soon dozed off as the dusk set in. When he opened his eyes again, he was in near total darkness. The limo had stopped. John leaned forward to ask Mycroft where there were, only to find out that he was alone in the car. After a furtive glance around, John got out.

Ahead through the trees were two or three lights. John picked his way through the forest underbrush to get to them. The trail rose up to the dim lights, opening into a hilly meadow. The lights, John realised came from several torches set around the meadow, casting a flickering glow over the ground.

John saw about a dozen ancient stones set on the ground, running in two neat rows. The stones varied in shape from large rectangular blocks in the ground to pillars standing on end. All were old & cracked as if they'd been placed there centuries before & forgotten. A mist hung around one large boulder. Fog was setting in.

John shivered; though, not from cold even though it was damp outside as rainclouds had covered the sky with a thick dark blanket. They had definitely gone up higher towards the north, wherever this was. He felt as if something had gone horribly wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end. He moved toward the nearest stone. On closer inspection, he noticed that the stone was engraved though it was almost too worn to read what was said. Checking the next stone, John saw more engravings, better than the first. He checked a few more & then stood back.

John was standing in a lost cemetery. He slowly walked through the graves. The pillars had once been crosses or angels or some sculpture or other, too old to tell by now. Engravings were better on other tombstones than some. John read those.

The dates were from B.C. which explained the ancient look of the place. There was a similar name on all of them that John could read. Hume. Hulme. Hulmes.

"These are Holmes," John muttered to himself. "Earlier alternate spelling of the name." He reached the stone with the fog still clinging to it. It was the second of four graves in the bottom row. The four were of a group of six that actually had 'Holmes' on them. The two in the top were Siger & Violet Scott Holmes & the first one in this row was Shane Sherrinford Scott Holmes. "Adrian Mycroft?" John stared at the second name through the mist, then glanced sideways. "William Sherlock?" He looked back at the grave with Mycroft written on it. Then he looked past the one marked Sherlock to the last one. Enola Violet. John stood up. "Must be ancestors. They reused the names." He looked once more at that stubborn mist still clinging to Mycroft's grave.

It sunk into that grave right before John's eyes & was gone. Next moment, the mist came swirling back in a rush like a breeze but with no wind. It seemed to take on a form. Then, Mycroft Holmes himself stood before John, standing above the grave. He was dressed in full black in loose robes. Burial clothes John realised with a horrific shiver through his spine.

"Oh very astute, Watson!" Mycroft grumbled. "I thought Sherlock said you were smarter than that."

John stumbled back & fell over flat on his back. "What? How? What?"

"Can't figure it out?" Mycroft stepped lightly through the graves. John noticed that he was barefoot. A few drops of cold rain began falling. Mycroft turned back sharply to John. "Any ideas yet?"

Forgetting what he had just seen, John began to pull off his coat. "Mycroft, you must be freezing!" He tossed the coat over. "What are you doing? You'll catch your death out here!"

"Funny you should mention death," Mycroft trotted lightly to John & handed back the coat.

"Well, yeah," John scoffed sheepishly. "Ok we're standing in a cemetery."

"Mhm."

"So these are ancestors of yours?"

"Some of them," Mycroft waved a hand to the upper row. "My parents are here to."

"I noticed the dates are from B. C. so how can they be here?"

Mycroft took up John's left hand in his own. "Come down to the castle with me. There's someone waiting for you. All will be explained then." He let go & disappeared into the forest.

John rubbed his brow. "Nice trick arsehole!" He shivered & put on his coat again. "I'll fix him!" He stalked to the edge of the cemetery, pausing a moment to cast one last look around. There was now a thick fog rolling in over the row of four graves. John shook his head & turned to glare at the forest, wondering how to navigate it in the dark. Mycroft had not waited for him. Again, the hairs on his neck prickled with doom. He began picking his way into the trees.

Ahead, several lights suddenly flared through the trees and John could finally make out the shape of a mansion. The little path was more visible & John reached the other end in a few minutes. The limo had been parked right in front of the house the whole time. John rolled his eyes & entered without bothering to knock.

"Doctor, come with me."

"Anthea," John raised a brow. "What is going on?"

"You'll know in a minute," Anthea said, leading John through the halls to stairs leading downward. She stepped aside, letting John go down on his own. John had no choice but to do as he was told.


	3. Chapter 3

**(3) Death Warmed Over**

The stairs spiralled downward about two & a half times. John stepped off the last stair into a large family room. A fireplace was blazing at the far wall. The room itself was more like a large personal barroom. It had a counter with high stools by the large bay window. A bar itself, with several glasses hanging upside down from a holder hanging from the low ceiling over the counter, ran along the wall on the left. There were even a few pool tables. John realised that this place was about half the size of the whole castle above.

Along that same wall was an archway leading into the next room. After a quick glance around, John moved forward, stepping into a sitting room with shelves of books, comfy chairs & two tables. A hard rain began hitting the large bay windows of this room. The light was dim, shining from corner lamps that shone upward on to the ceiling, casting a romantic yellow glow. John glanced back behind him to the wall with the archway cut into it. The entire wall had a mural painted onto it. He saw figures with wings & horses. A river running through it. In the dim light, John couldn't see much of it. In fact, he couldn't see much at all, as shadows danced in from the firelight coming through from the other room as well.

"Took you long enough."

John whirled around but couldn't see any one. "Hello?"

"Hi."

"Where are you?" John wondered where he had heard this voice before.

"I'm busy, hang on," the familiar tone said. "Let me put my books away. Sit down & have a drink. Not the red one though. That's a special one not for you."

"Some sort of medicine?" John hazarded, sitting down in a black leathered armchair with puffy arms. He noticed two wine glasses on the table. One was filled with white the other with red. A second look told John that it wasn't red wine but something quite a bit thicker. Blood? Right. How stupid. John shook the idea way.

"You could say that. I've been waiting here almost an hour."

"Sorry," John answered. "I was in that old cemetery up there. Then Mycroft appeared. Gave me the creeps, he did."

"Oh I told him not to play with you," the voice whined in a complaining manner. "He said he wouldn't. I'll just have to tell Sherry."

John stood up & casually as he could, walked around the table to inspect the thick red wine. "He somehow made it look like he rose out of a grave through the mist."

"Easy peasy," the voice scoffed it off. "We all can do that."

"What, exactly? Some sort of stage magic?"

"Something like that," the voice suddenly sounded a lot closer. "Pull the mist around us as a disguise. He was never in the grave. Probably behind you the whole time. We can't do osmosis."

John whirled around, ending up nose to nose with none other than Sherlock Holmes. "Oh my God! Oh! No. You're dead. YOU! ARE! DEAD!" He tried backing away but remembered that a table was behind him.

"Yes."

"I saw you jump!"

"Yes."

"You jumped off a building."

"Yes."

"I saw you die!"

A pause. "Nope."

"Sherlock! I held your wrist. You had no pulse."

"Quite right."

"Sherlock!" John facepalmed, frustrated. In a very soft voice, he finally asked, "What…what is…sorry. What's happening?"

"We're in the basement of the Holmes Castle," Sherlock said, raising his glass with the thick red wine. "We're sharing drinks."

"Sherlock. You jumped. You died. Why are you here?"

"I did jump & I did die. Not at the same time though. I'm here because this is one of my homes. My main home really. I grew up here before I died. Next question."

"So you did die?"

"Yes."

"Oh I get it," John suddenly clued in. Sherlock's face brightened. "Someone used the paddles on you. Brought you back. I'm a doctor. I should have guessed that already."

"You're way off," Sherlock scowled at him. "You weren't even born when I died."

John glared at him. "Ok, fine. When did you die?" He picked up the glass of white wine & began drinking it.

"In the year before the Lord 33 B.C."

John choked down on the drink he had. "God's sake, Sherlock! Don't make me laugh when I'm drinking."

"I wasn't trying to amuse you."

"Ok Sherlock," John tried to stop snickering. "Seriously, when did you die?"

"I just told you," Sherlock put his hands up in the air in frustration.

"That would make you a few thousand years old!"

"Now you're getting it," Sherlock held his glass in one hand, swirling the liquid. After downing about half of it, he set it back on the table & lit up a cigarette. He sat down on the black leather sofa behind him, holding the smoke in one hand.

John stared at him. He then noticed that he was not looking at the Consulting Detective he had known for almost over two years & lost for three. The creature sitting before him, half-cross legged with one arm over his bent knee, had his hair cut short & straight with a little wave in it. He was dressed in full black leather to match the furniture. There was something different in those ice blue eyes. Something primal, feral even & was that a glint of red? Well yes. Firelight. Red wine. Thick at that. Probably just reflected light. "I held your wrist. You had no pulse."

"John, have you ever really given me an exam before? Have you ever once bothered to check for a pulse before that day?"

"I … uh …what does that have to do with anything?"

"Check me now," Sherlock held up his free hand, pulling a drag with the smoke in his other hand.

John came over & grabbed the wrist. He waited. He glanced down at their touch & then into Sherlock's face. He waited some more. He looked down & back again faster than before & let go. "I must be tired. I can't find it."

"It's because I don't have one," Sherlock pointed out. "I haven't had one in a few millennia."

"…Right…" John began backing away, being mindful of the table this time.

Sherlock stood up, downed the rest of his drink & set the glass aside. He stepped—swaggered?—forward towards John. "You understand now?"

John laughed nervously, feeling a wall coming up behind him. "Well unless you're….you know…you're…."

With lightening speed, Sherlock was upon John, crashing them both into the wall. He pinned John against it & grinned. "Ooh so hot!"

Fangs. Fangs? Fangs! John stared at them. "Oh sweet Lord! You ARE a vampire!"

"Burned at last. You got it." Sherlock backed away & headed back for his glass.

"No no. That isn't real."

"Then how do you explain what you're seeing right now? How do you explain how I 'survived suicide'?"

"Yes, YES! I saw you jump!"

"You saw me quite literally take a flying leap."

"In the daytime! Vampires turn to ash in the sun. Or sparkle. You don't do either. HA!"

"Ohhh a curse on Hollywood! You are confusing fiction with fact."

"Oh this—THIS—is fact?"

"Hollywood makes vampires, weres too, into big monsters with the most stupid of weaknesses. Sparkling! Really? How stupid."

"You're a vampire."

"We all are."

"Oh no! I am NOT a vampire."

"Sorry, not you. I was referring to my family."

_Funny you should mention death._ John remembered, Mycroft's words taking on a whole new meaning than just a lost cemetery. "Mycroft? OH! Mycroft! The grave & mist."

"That's right."

"Sherry to then? Enola?"

"Them too."

"Wait, the mist," John began. "It came out of the grave. I never saw Mycroft anywhere before that."

"No," Sherlock refilled his glass from a bottle in a cabinet on the right side of the couch. "John, vampires can do some magic. Not like Merlin but any vampire & Lycan does have a little power in them. Mist is merely water & it can come out of the ground. We manipulate it is all. Dead or alive, we vampires are still a physical body. He was watching you the whole time while pulling the moisture out of the air around you to play with."

"So you can actually hide in mist?"

"We can use it for cover, to confuse, obscure vision. With machines, a human does that on stage. We don't need machines. It isn't that big a deal."

"You being dead is a big deal."

"Only because you're not used to it," Sherlock shrugged. "It's been a few thousand years for me. I care not."

"What about your par…well yes of course. Man, you weren't kidding when you told me they're dead."

Sherlock hung his head. "They didn't survive."

"You're parents aren't vampires?"

"They were accused of being vampires but it wasn't them," Sherlock explain. "They were burned at stake. Human. Couldn't survive that. But the killings continued so the town came after the other Holmes. Sherry. Mike. Me. Enola. We're all still quite human at the time. Grown up & living elsewhere, it took time to be found. In the meantime, Mycroft happened to discover that he was living close to three vampires. A family. The real ones responsible for the killings. He went after them mostly to clear our parents' names. Killed two but got turned by the third who is still around today." Sherlock stopped, putting his refilled glass down.

John noticed that the glass shook while still in Sherlock's hand. "This third vampire … turned you all?"

"No," Sherlock sighed, sitting down. "No. Mycroft did."

"Mycroft?"

Sherlock stared vacantly ahead, taking a moment to calm himself. "He knew that we had no chance now that the townspeople & the escaping vampire were after us."

'_Our entire family hath come under threat,' Mycroft said. 'There is only one thing I can do to give to each of thee the power to protect thyself' He stepped forward, pulling his youngest brother into a tight embrace, resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. _

'_What ails thee?'_

'_I hope…' Mycroft sighed, trying to hold back tears. 'I hope thou canst forgiveth me. Someday. For…'_

'_What did you do?'_

_Mycroft held Sherlock back a pace, to search his brother's eyes. 'It is what I am about to do. May the good Lord forgive thy wicked brother this moment.' After another long look, Mycroft growled & ripped Sherlock's collar away._

'_My brother, what art thou do—oh God!' Sherlock felt the bite seize his whole body. Mycroft lowered him to the floor & watched his brother change._

Sherlock shook himself & went on. "Mycroft made a visit to each of us. We didn't know. By the time we did, it was too late. He went after the third vampire. But the whole village was in an uproar & came after all of us. We were almost caught but a friend of our parents hid us. He said he didn't care what we were. I later found out why but that's another story. We eventually escaped & made our way home. Away from the town out to kill anything vampire."

"Good friend to have," John mused. "So you vampires do go on bloodthirsty rampages then?"

Sherlock actually laughed. "Back then, most of us did. There were very few who controlled the cravings & instead of killing for blood, they would pose as doctors or sorcerers & simply extract blood through a nonlethal cut. Today though, it's easy as ever. Blood banks."

"Blood banks," John nodded.

"Who do you think invented that?"

"Vampires?"

"Yeah, well the ones who didn't like the killings," said Sherlock.

"This friend that saved you, vampire too then?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "Definitely not." He looked up at John. Through him. Into the past.

'_Thy parents took charge over me,' the man said. 'It is time I returned the kindness of thine house. I bare a curse to, not the same as thou hast. May we watch over one another.'_

'_I thank thee,' Sherrinford said. 'If any more wrongdoings befell mine house, I know not what I shall do.'_

"What?" John asked in the silence, waving one hand over Sherlock's vacant eyes.

"Hmm? Oh. Ah nothing," Sherlock leaned back with a stretch until his back cracked into place. "Like I said, it's a story for later."


	4. Chapter 4

**(4) Poison**

By now, heavy rain had turned into a tempest. Thunder rolled through the night. John was quite comfortable curled up in the bending section of a couch that fitted into a corner. He & Sherlock had moved into the family barroom, the warmth of the fire felt better than the cooler room he had first seen Sherlock in since three years. John shifted slightly, he was pretty much kneeling into the corner, letting his head lie on the back so that he was staring at the ceiling.

Sherlock came up to him, holding out another drink. John took it, noticing the glass of red liquid in Sherlock's hand. He had to ask. "So, is that … blood?"

"Virgin O."

"You can tell the difference betw…actually forget that one!"

"Virgin is merely more bitter than non-virgin," Sherlock explained anyway. "Mycroft prefers the sweet of non-virgin blood."

"Mhm," John glared.

"Virgin is getting harder & harder to find though," Sherlock sighed, sitting down near John on the L-shaped couch. "Joys of the modern era."

"Is that why you're still a virgin then?" John asked.

"John Hamish Watson!" Sherlock glared at him. "I'm over two thousand years old. Trust me, I'm no virgin."

"Right," John drowned his embarrassment with a drink. "I wasn't thinking."

"No you weren't," Sherlock agreed. "Or else, you'd have remembered Irene. My most recent play mate."

"Play mate. You turned her?" John gasped.

"I haven't turned anyone in over a thousand years," Sherlock said. "She's not a vampire & she doesn't know. She's a human girl." He sighed heavily. "They only last about a hundred years."

John felt a thrill go through him. Here sat a nearly three thousand year old creature who just admitted to toying with someone far too young for him. How old was Irene? Thirty or mid-thirty tops. Wow, a child compared to this man! Despite his dislike for her, he suddenly felt sorry for Irene. "That doesn't seem all that fair, really. She's just a baby to you, isn't she?"

Sherlock finished his …blood wine … for lack of a better term. "She's an adult by human standards. John! I'm not taking advantage of her or anyone else. She takes advantage of me…but I'm not complaining. I wouldn't do anyone under thirty. That's my personal moral limit if it helps you."

"Alright, just don't bite her."

"I've bitten her more times than I can count."

"You just told me you haven't turned anyone in over a thousand years!"

"I haven't," Sherlock said. "John look at me. Where are the fangs?"

John took a long hard look at Sherlock's quite human grin. "I don't know."

"Keep watching," Sherlock ordered. He then bared teeth like a snarling dog, without the growling. John watched as four incisors, the top two larger than the bottom two, slid over their human counterparts. The white sabers were honey-colored at the tips, looking almost liquid. "Don't touch the points," Sherlock pulled back from John's reaching hand. "See that color at the tips? My venom." John dropped his hand, staring at the fangs a moment longer. As they began sliding back from whence they came, John noticed a few streaks of red coming down. Sherlock licked his lips. "See? The human teeth can't do anything. But even if I transform, I can bite anyone without doing real damage if I don't lose control. Sucking blood out of a vein & injecting venom into it are two different processes but can happen at basically the same time. But controlling either urge is next to impossible so I don't do that."

"That looked painful."

"It is. Fresh cut every time."

"Wait, you're dead. You feel pain?"

"Vampirism is a disease of the dead," Sherlock said. "Keeping you in between life & death forever. Oh yes. I feel pain. Worse than a human. How much do you think that just hurt me? Like a baby cutting a new tooth?"

"Uh, right up until you side that."

"Go touch the fire, multiply that by a few thousand, four times over, then get back to me."

"So … when you jumped…"

"It was the second most brutal excruciating moment of pain in my entire life & death combined," Sherlock said. "Fortunately, vampires have healing powers. Among other powers."

"Second. What was the first?"

"Being turned. It hurts. A lot," said Sherlock. "Have you ever been stung by a bee? My venom can do that but like a whole hive stinging you at once. It burns through your entire body in a matter of seconds, then keeps burning for nearly an hour."

"It took an hour to turn?"

"I was glad when death finally took me, only to regain consciousness a few moments later. My body still ached from what Mycroft did to me."

"But he did it to save you."

"I know," Sherlock sighed. "In the beginning, I complained to Mycroft that I preferred a true death to the pain he put me through. We didn't speak kindly to each other for a few centuries. I resented him. We all did. But we knew why he did that."

"He did what he thought was best."

"Mm, I'd have gladly gone into the fire with my parents then suffer through that any day though," Sherlock said. "Venom changes a person. That's what kills. The pain. Bones shift into new permanent positions. Like in the jaw for the fangs. The body creates a substance like steel but liquid when inside that forms into the wings."

"Wings? You have wings?" John gasped.

"Of course I have wings," Sherlock was annoyed. "All vampires do."

"I've never seen any wings," John complained.

"Watson!" Sherlock grumbled. "You never saw my fangs until now either have you?"

"Well no but—"

"Same idea," Sherlock cut in. "They're inside my back. I've only used them a handful of times. Even without the wingspread, vampires can glide a bit. I didn't need them for that jump I did three years ago."

"Are the wings Adamantine?" John teased.

"I'm not Wolverine," Sherlock scowled. "Though the cutting through every time is the same. They're harder than diamond & each point is sharper than a blade. Living steel. When not in use, it's like a semi-sold liquid inside, ready to form."

John lay back against the couch, looking quite comfy. He watched Sherlock through half-closed eyes. "So, the most important question now… why? Why did you jump? Why didn't you come home right away? Why lie to everyone?"

"Moriarty."

"Oh God! Is he like a zombie or something?"

"Don't even get into me about zombies right now," Sherlock shook his head. "Nah he was quite human. Now there is someone to feel sorry for. Not Irene. Poor Jim. He truly did not have a clue what he was getting into, coming after a vampire. If only he knew." Sherlock laughed sardonically.

"So he made you jump & you decided to humour him?

"More or less."

"But you didn't come home right away?" John pressed, feeling like Sherlock was dodging something. It would be a wooden stake to his heart if he didn't start co-operating soon, John scowled to himself.

"You, Lestrade & Mrs. Hudson each had a sniper. If I didn't jump & die, or well in my case play dead, you three would have."

"What?" John sat up sharply, instantly regretting it as his legs & knees went numb from being bent for so long. He rubbed them down.

"It was either I die or you three die," Sherlock repeated. "Sad fact for Jim, I was already dead. Had been for millennia upon millennia. But Jim didn't know that. I started laughing at him so hard. He wondered what he missed. I made some dumb thing up, but I was really laughing at how unfair it was for him & he didn't even know it." Sherlock laughed right then as he added, "Humans are good playthings, I'll admit that."

John glowered at him. "I'm going to stake you if you don't tell me what's going on?"

"Stake me? Oh! Right of course. Fiction. Novels. Hollywood."

"You don't die from a wooden stake to the heart?"

"Nope."

"Then how did humans get rid of your kind in the past?"

"There's a few ways but the most common one is you must use the point of a wing from another vampire. Not my own. The wings are mine. It wouldn't kill me. But another vampire's wings will turn me to ash if they stab through my heart."

"So humans can't do it then."

"Oh yes," Sherlock said. "Few vampire hunters of old have figured it out but those that did became a very soar thorn in our side. If they were able to find a broken off point of a vampire's wing; afterward they'd use that point on any vampire they'd come across, provided not that same one. Mycroft still has the one he used to kill the two vampires."

"That's why he didn't get the third," said John. "The point came off of that one, didn't it?"

"By the time Mycroft figured that out, it was too late," Sherlock nodded. "The bodies of the other two vampires had since been destroyed & Mycroft had been turned. I was taking down Moriarty's men by the way. The snipers."

John took a moment to catch up to the change of subject. "Oh you went after them?"

"I had to," Sherlock said. "If they saw me around at any time, you three would die anyway. So I had to play dead until I took care of them all. Believe me, you don't want to be hunted by a vampire. We stalk. We wait. Even if it takes years. We're among the most patient of predators on the planet."

John shifted so that his back was in the corner. He stretched his legs out, touching the floor & lay back. "Have you told anyone else you're back?"

"No," Sherlock answered slowly.

"Oh what now?"

"I'm not ….well, I'm not finished."

"Some of Moriarty's men are still at large?"

"They're working with someone else now & going after you," Sherlock admitted. "I've taken out the three snipers but there were others working for Jim. I'm going after them now. They're vampires. Jim didn't know that though."

"I see, using me to get to you."

Sherlock didn't answer. He played with his empty glass for a bit before standing up. "You should get to bed. This mansion has twenty-four bedrooms so take your pick. Mike, Sherry, Ennie & I are on the top floor."

"You're all here?"

"Mhm."

"Should I … lock my door then?"

"If you want, but the castle is fully secured to begin with," Sherlock shrugged. "Also very few knew about this place. Only the family & our closest friends."

"I was referring to you, actually," John said. "Your kind. I'm in a castle with four vampires. I'm the only human here."

"There are four humans here, like Anthea," Sherlock said. "We're not going to eat them. John really."

"I had to ask," John held up his shoulders in a frozen shrug. He reached up & turned his collar upwards. "Just to be sure."

Sherlock pulled John's collar down. "We wouldn't suckle from your veins even if we were blood thirsty. Your blood is lethal to us." At that, he headed for the stairs.

"What?" John asked but Sherlock was already gone. He hurried after. "Wait. Sherlock! What do you mean?"


	5. Chapter 5

**(5) Eternal Pain**

John was unable to catch up to Sherlock. Anthea met him at the top of the stairs & led him to the corridor leading to several of the bedrooms. The walls of the corridor were covered in murals, from horse & riders in battles of old to creatures descending with out-stretched wings, similar to a few figures he had seen in the basement room. With the better light, John could see more clearly. The creatures weren't angels. They were more human-looking but the wings were long & jagged. There was something bat-like about them but only because John couldn't come up with a better way of viewing it. Either way, the figures were definitely vampires.

"Interesting art," John remarked, not sure how much Anthea knew of this.

"This is Mycroft," she pointed at one figure just landing on a large boulder, wings half folded already. "This one here," she indicated another vampire farther down by a stream. "is Micah de LaCie. If you ever end up in a room with both of them together, just leave. There was never a more pure hatred between creatures than those two."

"You mean, these pictures," John stammered. "It's-it's actual Holmes history?"

"Most of it," Anthea nodded.

"You're human though," John pointed out.

"My family has been with the Holmes for generations," Anthea said. "though not as long as another family."

John felt like he was being evaded. "Micah's?"

"No, though Micah & Mycroft have known each other for almost the same length of time."

"I see," John gave up. He turned into the last bedroom door. "Before we say goodnight, Sherlock basically told me my blood is bad to vampires. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," Anthea turned & left, saying over her shoulder, "Goodnight."

John closed his door. "Damn it!" He glanced around the room. The four-poster bed was against the far wall, curtains pulled back to reveal deep red pillows & a velvet forest green quilt with an outline of leaves running through it in gold thread.

John laid his coat over a chair & noticed a door in the right hand wall. It led to a small washroom. A deep blue bathrobe hung on the door. He quickly washed & put it on, then went to the bed & pulled back the covers. He found a heating pad under the quilt. He unrolled it & plugged it in by the nightstand beside the bed. John was grateful that the castle had been modernised, as it was a cold night. After lying down, he checked the painting on the last wall. It was a night scene of a pack of gray & brown wolves in the forest, coming down from the top of a hill that seemed to open up into a meadow. Rays of moonlight shone down illuminating fur & eyes. The picture was nearly life like & seemed to leap off the wall at him. John stared at the top of the path. It seemed somehow familiar but he couldn't figure it out. He turned the light off, planning to literally sleep on it.

Late the next morning, John woke slowly, curled up under the covers. He tried to figure out what was waking him up. The room was wailing & cool beyond the quilt. Then John realised that the wind was raging outside. He sighed & settled back for a bit more sleep. What a crazy dream he was having. Sherlock was alive. Technically speaking. He was a vampire. All Holmes were. It was a much better dream then the nightmares, well, apart from a creepy Mycroft in a cemetery. John snickered to himself, still half-asleep.

Something tickled the tip of his nose. He pushed on the covers, fingers curling into deep velvet. Velvet? He didn't have any velvet covers. John opened his eyes, that disorientation sweeping over him from waking up to a brand new bed. John sat up & glanced around. A cold grey sky showed through the high window. Trees seemed permanently bowed with wind. His eyes landed on the painted wall with the wolf pack in the forest.

John got out of bed & went to the window. Looking out, he could see over the top of the forest running up a hill. There was a meadow opening on the hilltop, with strange stones. The ancient cemetery. He looked at the wall of wolves again. No wonder it was familiar. The animals were on that same little trail through the forest that he had used that very night, ending up in the cemetery. John fished around in his jacket pockets for his mobile. He speed-dialled Harry while moving back into the warm bed with a shiver.

"Hello?"

"Harry. Hi."

"Hamish?" Harry's voice sounded more awake. "Hamish, where are you?"

"Oh, um, I'm not quite sure," John honestly said. "Mycroft. You know how he is."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said. "How are you doing?"

"Harry? I, uh, well, I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"I talked with Sherlock most of the night," John said. "I'm fine."

"Talked with…" Harry repeated slowly. "Honey, he's dead. You know that right?"

"I know," John agreed. "Believe me, you have no idea that I know he's dead."

"Hamish, come home."

"Harriet! I'm fine," John insisted. "Trust me. I know Sherlock is dead. But I still talked to him last night."

"In spirit?" Harry sounded hopeful. Maybe her brother didn't crash into a full depression & needed to be institutionalised after all.

"You have no idea," John laughed a bit. "Trust me, he's dead. I'll find out when Mycroft will take me home, but I'm sure it won't be until late."

"Alright," Harry said. "I hope you're ok."

"I am," John smiled to himself. "I'll see you later." He hung up, relieved to know that his sister wouldn't worry about him for another day. Yet, he was also guilty. He had just told her everything, but without giving her any information at all. If she ever found out, he'll end up deader than the four Holmes combined. He got out of bed, put the mobile away & got dressed.

His blood was lethal to vampires. Why? John wandered down the halls feeling a little lost in the castle, like Harry Potter's first day at Hogwarts. This castle was at least half as big as that one. It had to be. At least, there were no magic stairs moving about to confuse him. Anthea, a human, seemed to know what was wrong with his blood but didn't answer him. It had to be something simple. Walking through the place, seeing the various murals, he remembered something else Sherlock had said. Virgin O. John paused. There were several blood types. Perhaps not all were good for vampires. Of course! That had to be it.

John rounded the corner into a new hallway, leading to a large dining room. He stopped short. It was like walking into a 3D picture, coming in from both sides. Mostly a dark calm ocean at night. An iceberg. An …upended…ship? John took a moment to figure out where he had seen a picture like this before. "Hey wait a minute. That's the Ti …tan…Oh!"

"RMS Titanic," Sherlock came up behind him.

"I know," John said. "I've been following the story of that ship since it was first found in the 80's. The last survivor, Millvina Dean, died May 31, 2009."

"So they say."

"She did," John turned to look Sherlock in the eye. "It was on a Sunday. You can Google it if you don't believe me."

"It isn't that. I mean the last survivor of that ship actually died before any of them, Titanic included, was born. In the year before our Lord, 33 B.C."

"What do y…what? You!"

"No," Sherlock said. "Only Mycroft. The rest of us were at home. Here. Or at our own places. Hey, listen. Don't speak to Mycroft about it. He lost everything on that ship."

"How so?"

"Vampire's can't reproduce like humans do," Sherlock said. "We're dead. Mycroft had adopted twin baby girls. Human. He wanted to bring them to America for their seventh birthday. That's why he was on that ship." He stood staring at Titanic for a long moment. "They didn't make it."

"Seven years old," John hung his head.

"Mike stayed on board right to the end," Sherlock went on. "He was desperate to find them. He ended up on the railing right there at the back when it stood up straight," he pointed. John could see a figure painted in small since the part with boat was far away. Drawn from the view of a lifeboat? "Nearly the same place Jack & Rose are in the movie. Highly fictionalised movie, I should say."

"I thought it was women & children first," John said. "Particularly of first class?"

"Mycroft was first class & yes, women & children first," Sherlock nodded. "We found out later, it was that third funnel that killed them. Emmanuelle & Miriam had become separated from Mycroft in the fray of the sinking. They had been put on one of the boats, only to have the funnel fall on them. Mycroft didn't know. He searched everywhere, even plunged into the bow section underwater while it was breaking off, looking for them until the last possible moment when that part broke away & sunk. He used his wings to help propel himself upward away from that suction & was back on the stern part when it was filling up & standing on end."

"My God! To this day, I can never fully comprehend the horrors they went through," John murmured. After a moment, he went on, "I must ask you one question. What was the last song played?"

Sherlock actually laughed. "Alright I'll tell you." He linked arms with the doctor & led him to the dining hall.

Mycroft was waiting for them, standing against the wall, arms folded. He held Sherlock in both hands by the shoulders & pulled him away to one side. They began speaking in a strange language. John heard his name at least twice. Sherlock looked annoyed & soon broke away from his brother. He sat down at the table across from John, Mycroft on Sherlock's right & Enola on his left. Sherrinford sat next to Mycroft. The four Holmes faced John, watching him.

Anthea & other servants laid out breakfast for everyone. One elderly woman poured out drinks, champagne for him & the wine of blood for the four Holmes. Anthea barely touched John's shoulder as she left but he noticed. John noticed the Holmes family still ate the same things he did. He thought that odd, being vampires, that they would eat anything but blood. He used to Sherlock going for days without food. Well human food. Now he knew why. But the other three were slightly unnerving for him. He tried to think of something else. Four predators on one side. Him on the oth—think of something else, dammit!

"So," John began. "uh, I must ask," Ask what? Titanic. No, not about those children. He couldn't do that even if Sherlock hadn't told him not to. "that language you two were speaking earlier. What was it?"

"English," Sherlock replied coolly.

"Erm, no, I speak English," John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock really. You need to learn how to joke properly."

"It's no joke," Mycroft cut in. "It is English. Prehistoric English that is."

"It's called Ingvaeonic," Sherrinford added. "Even before Beowulf's poem. It's been around since 1 AD."

"It's considered a separate dialect by now," Sherlock began again. "A lost one at that unless you go to school for classes."

"What would they know?" Sherrinford laughed.

"You speak that old d—language?" John almost said dead but decided that would be overkill. Wait. Damn it. Overkill is NOT the word to use either! John tried not to roll his eyes.

"We speak any part of the English language," Sherlock went on. "We've been there through all its transformations."

"Yeah, I guess you would be," John laughed softly.

"Before that, it's Latin & Greek," Mycroft added. "Archaic Latin since about 75 BC., even before our time by a few decades. Greek is the language we were raised with. It's been around since 3000 BC, possibly longer."

"We're British, yet English is not our first language," Sherlock scoffed at the irony.

"Or the second for that matter," Mycroft said. "But we often use Ingvaeonic when talking to each other. No one knows that language like we do. Anyone can learn Greek or Latin however."

John watched Mycroft & Sherrinford quietly fight over a muffin, which Sherlock finally snatched & ate himself, ignoring glares. "Don't vampires just eat blood?" John finally asked.

"No, we drink it," Mycroft said. "Vampires eat anything everyone else does. But instead of water, we have to use blood. We can drink water to, but it does nothing for us. Blood is a must."

"What happens if you don't have blood?"

"We'll shrivel up, still alive, so to speak anyway," Mycroft explained. "We'd be painfully aware of it. But pour some blood into us & we'll spring right back. It won't kill us. Just extremely torturous."

"Ennie darling, you haven't touched your plate at all," Sherrinford turned the conversation to his baby sister. "Are you feeling alright?"

"How can I?" Enola snapped, leaning forward to glare past the middle children at him. Sherlock & Mycroft leaned back out range from her vision of death.

"I thought we discussed this, Violet," Sherlock moved only his eyes sideways to watch her.

Enola slammed one hand down on the table with a thud, startling John. "Don't call me Violet!"

"Sherly, be nice to your sister."

It was Sherlock's turn to thud the table. "Don't call me Sherly! Mike!"

"Hey!"

"HEY!" Sherrinford cut in. "You're scaring our war doctor!"

"N-n-no you're not," John stammered, focusing on his breakfast.

Sherlock cast John a pitiful look. "John you need have no fear from us."

"Oh doesn't he?" Enola scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Enola!" The three Holmes boys warned.

John put his fork down. Something was wrong. Enola … didn't like him. At all. He didn't know how he knew that. But he could feel the hate emanating from her. "You have a problem with me?"

"Yeah, you exist," Enola glared at him. "'nough said."

"Enola!" Sherlock sighed heavily. "We discussed this. We agreed."

"I changed my mind."

"Well it's too late for that now! He knows what we are"

"No it isn't!" Enola shot back. "Kill him & be done with it."

"Whoa! WHOA!" John stood up. "Hey remember me? The guy with lethal blood to a vampire? You can't bite me Enola."

"It would be worth it!"

"Enola," Sherlock tried in a soft voice, almost pleading.

"Don't you Enola me, brother," Enola bared fangs at him. "We should have never done this."

John heard a growl & suddenly, Sherrinford was behind Enola, He pulled her from the chair & whipped her around in his hands to face him. Fangs bared he snarled viciously before saying, "Silence! We can't go back now. You have three of us protecting you."

"Protecting her," John whispered to himself. What the hell was going on?

"Enola, I suggest keeping quiet," Sherlock said. "Or do you want Sherry to cut his wings open?"

"No," Enola moaned in defeat, turning her face away from Sherrinford. She squirmed & yanked her arms free. With a huff, she sat down, smoothing out her pure white satin dress. She flicked her long black hair over her bare shoulders. The dress was strapless.

"Enola," John sat down. "What did I do? Maybe I can fix it."

"Alright," Enola looked up at him, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Ennie!" Sherrinford tried but it was too late.

"You're not the first Watson to grace, or should I say disgrace, this family," Enola began her rant. "We thought your family was our friend. Thanks to one of your ancestors, I was almost destroyed. To this day, I bear an unsealing wound." She actually pulled the left side of her dress down, exposing all but the nipple of her breast. Mycroft facepalmed as John noticed a long reddish black scar. A slightly open wound. "It causes nothing but pain no matter what. My brothers have tried everything, Sorcery. Modern doctors. My healing powers won't fix this. So unless you can go back in time & stop your great—times how many- grandfathers from trying to kill me, no, dearest doctor, I don't think you can fix this!"

"I am a doctor."

"Been to plenty," Enola sneered at him. "It doesn't work. I'm in pain for all eternity no thanks to your family. I'd rather death at times."

"Will you at least let me try?" John asked.

Enola just scoffed, stood up & left. At the door leading into the Titanic hall, she paused. "I'll have you know, he was my lover on top of it all, until he betrayed me." She stormed off without a backwards glance.

"You'll have to forgive our sister," said Sherrinford.

"You understand why she's mad though?" Mycroft asked hopefully.

"He broke her heart," John said.

"Not only that," Mycroft corrected. "Her trust as well as ours."

"But I never even dated your sister," John put in. "Never even thought of it before. Though I must say she—"

"Watson!" Sherlock raised his voice. "This is my baby sister we're talking about."

"I was just going to say, she is a beauty," John grumbled. "Definitely my style."

"Watson!" Sherrinford glared.

"The woman basically showed me her breast! What do you expect? Gees!" He focused on his plate. Laughter broke out from all three Holmes. John's face went redder than strawberries.

"Oh John!" Sherlock gasped between breaths, clutching Mycroft's arm. "You're a regular Captain Kirk!"

"Drink your blood," John complained. "Before you want to feed on somebody." After the laughter died down & John's face returned to normal, he suddenly added, "I don't get it actually."

"Get what?" Mycroft asked.

"Why is she so mad at betrayal?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock muttered.

"No, it isn't," John shook his head. "You don't seem to mind betrayal at all."

"We take it very seriously," Sherlock sat back, glaring. "What are you getting at?"

"If it weren't for Mycroft blabbing to Jim, you'd never have had to jump & disappear. Mycroft betrayed you to him yet here you both sit, all fine as if nothing happened."

Sherlock, Mycroft & Sherrinford shared looks. "That isn't...quite correct." Mycroft began.

"What?" John was confused.

"As I said, humans are interesting playthings," Sherlock started. "I've known about Moriarty from the beginning. He was the one who was betrayed, not me."

"What?"

"The Secret Service sit by & watch people like Moriarty," Mycroft tried. "He was becoming very dangerous before I was assigned to the case. When I came on, I knew he was already to far gone into his world of crime. Some spoke of executing him but couldn't actually pin a thing on him."

"So Mycroft turned to me," Sherlock cut in. "Vampires often have to fill in where simple-minded humans fail. Same with Lycans. Our two kinds have an even more secret government that take over at times."

"Quite simply put, Moriarty never stood a chance."

John glared at Mycroft. "You said you messed up! A day before Sherlock jumped, you summoned me to your club. You were all upset saying how you couldn't keep Sherlock safe & so asked me to do it."

Mycroft sighed before answering. "I was preparing you for what was to come. John it had to look real. Sherlock had to be dead so you, Greg & Mrs. Hudson would be safe but more to the point," He cast a sidelong glare at Sherlock. "We had to make sure that Sherlock, not to mention the rest of us, being a vampire did not come out. I'm sorry for the trick but it was for your own safety as well as ours."

John stared incredulously at Mycroft, then Sherlock. Something didn't quite add up. "The shoes."

"What shoes?" Sherlock asked.

"When you went to school some kid drowned," John began. "You were convinced it wasn't an accident. Years later, Moriarty gives you the shoes to finish the puzzle."

"While some kid did die in a school pool years ago, I never knew him," Sherlock said. "I had an interest in the case back then but never figured it out. It's mostly true apart from the fact that I knew the boy. I didn't."

"Moriarty said—" John began.

"And who fed Moriarty stories of Sherlock? Eh?" Mycroft cut him off. "I did that for three reasons. It made us seem human. It gave Moriarty something to do without killing people. It shut Sherlock up about that stupid pool in the first place." Sherlock glared but was ignored. Mycroft went on, "When the Secret Service could do nothing against Moriarty, the Undead Law took over. The moment Moriarty's case was turned over to me, I set him up from the beginning; his only weakness was Sherlock's fascination in crime solving. I merely exploited that weakness, literally to death, acting all the while as an Agent & estranged brother of Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes."

"We do try to live normal human lives as much as possible," Sherrinford added. "But sometimes, we have to own up to what we truly are. We have to step in where humans fear to trod."

"So those shoes were just some plant by Mycroft then?"

"No they did come from that boy many years ago," Mycroft said. "I just merely used the Secret Service to get at confiscated things of that old case. Rather easy to do really."

John leaned back in his chair, horrified. Sherlock set his goblet down as he said in his dangerous soft low voice, "Oh John, you must think us monsters now & perhaps you're right. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but I warned you not to make me into a hero. They don't exist or even if they didn't I wouldn't be one." They shared a glare as Sherlock went on. "I do what I have to do. Like I said in court, Moriarty was a spider. Had he continued, the world would have gone into a third World War."

"Third World War?" John echoed. "But that still doesn't make it right."

"Perhaps not," Sherlock sighed. "But better than the alternative. Vampires & Lycans have worked together before, trying to keep this world in balance. We don't always succeed. World War 1 & 2. The Holocaust. Three of many more cases when the Undead Law failed. Horribly. There's a lot more going on behind closed doors about just those three cases alone that the public—that is to say, human public—would never know. Dead or alive, no one's perfect. I've even told Moriarty that, moments before he killed himself. 'I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them!' It was actually a silent plea for his soul."

"You—I can't! People died when you & Jim were fooling around in the end!"

"John, that's what people do," Sherlock whispered, quoting Moriarty himself. "eventually. Only one lady actually died while Jim was loose & only because she started describing him. I told her to stop as I already knew but she didn't. Think of how many people die in a world war though. So which would you prefer? One old lady ...or millions of old & young dead?"

"I know, I KNOW!" John rubbed his face with one hand. "My God! I get it. I know Moriarty was a bad person. Just look at what he did to us. But I still can't help feeling a little sorry for him after this."

"It's the doctor in you," Sherlock said.

"Hmmmm," John let out a long-suffering sigh. "Remind me to never get on a vampire's bad side."

Sherlock actually snickered at him. "You wouldn't last two seconds."


	6. Chapter 6

**(6) Doctor's Curse**

John stepped out onto the large covered back porch, drink in hand. Enola was kneeling on a loveseat, brushing out her hip-length black hair. John decided that he had never seen a more spiteful look sent his way before that moment she noticed him & glowered. She put her brush aside. "What do you want?"

"Any one of your brothers, really," John said. "I should get home back to my sister."

"Hmpf. Two of you," Enola rolled her eyes, looking down a moment. "I suppose we have to tell her as well."

"No," John began. "Sherlock is planning on coming back to 221B but he won't tell anyone anything about …about what you all are."

"The word is vampire."

"Right."

"Got a problem with it?" Enola lavishly licked her exposed fangs.

"No, vampires are ok I guess."

"You GUESS?!" Enola stared at him as if he were an idiot. "Well, I never! I guess I'll just have to sit by & smile. I guess I have to listen to my brothers telling me not to worry."

"Enola."

"I guess it's just a matter of time. I guess it's only a matter of time before yet another bastard Watson betrays me again. Have I missed anything?"

"Just one thing," John all but spat back at her.

"Oh? What might that be?"

"You're a beautiful woman," John said, ignoring her scoff. "On the outside. Inside? You're nothing but a bitter millennia old bitch!"

"How dare you!" Enola rose up to her feet.

"I just want to know one thing: how do you keep looking so youthful? Botox?" With that, he rounded on his heel & re-entered the castle, slamming the door. He ran away down the hall & turned the corner into a parlour. He pressed himself against the wall, daring a glance back the way he had come. He wasn't followed. "Dr. John Hamish Watson!" He rubbed his face with both hands, then laughed mirthlessly to himself. "Botox, really? That's the best insult I can come up with? Gods I'm stupid!" John eventually hurried through the parlour & into another corridor. He picked his way through the whole castle, hoping to get as far from Enola as possible. He found another den room with a large fireplace aglow with flames & finally sat down to relax a moment. He found a stack of magazines on a small coffee table & picked one up attempting to read.

John found he couldn't read. He just kept staring at the page. Inside, he was fuming but didn't know who or what he was mad at. With a sigh, he laid the magazine to one side. Three Holmes faces came into view. John shrugged.

"Botox? That is the best insult you can do? Honestly Watson!" Sherlock declared. Mycroft & Sherrinford had their arms crossed. They lifted their noses even higher, glaring down at him.

John leaned forward slightly, about to say something. "Forget it," He sat back. "I was just going to apologise but guess what? I don't care. She got what she deserved!"

"Do you have any idea how pissed off Enola is right now?" Mycroft glared. John grumbled & looked away.

"You do know you could have been killed, right?" Sherrinford added. "Be grateful Enola isn't some monstrous creature like how some vampires turn out."

"Oh she's monstrous alright!" John shot back. "She doesn't have to be a vampire for that either. Believe me!"

Mycroft grabbed John be the front of his collar & hauled him to his feet. He pointed in some general direction. "Get up there & apologise to her. NOW!"

John sighed. "Why don't you just send me home to my sister?"

"We can't," Mycroft said. "She & her mate are coming up here. They should be here soon. I want this mess with you & Enola sorted out by then."

"Why are you bringing them here?"

"Because we're not finished with you," Sherlock filled in. "Enola. Now! Or you'll be the one needing Botox."

John was buffeted by the three of them up two flights of stairs & to a closed door. Here he was left on his own, expected to go in there with that angry hornet all by himself. His blood was lethal to vampires. John kept that thought firmly in place & knocked on the door. The three brothers disappeared downstairs without a backwards glance.

"Well get in here! I don't have all day," came the flippant reply.

Reluctantly, John opened the door a little to look in. He glanced around at the large bedroom, feeling like he was about to walk into a medieval storybook. There was a desk by the window that had three panels of mirrors. The two outer mirrors could be folded in covering the larger main one. On it were a stationary set, complete with an actual fountain pen, a jewellery box that seemed to be musical & a few ladies' garments such as a pair of furred gloves & a silk shawl. There was a long large closet with one door open & John could see several vintage style dresses & evening gowns. At the far wall was a King-sized bed with four posts, all draped over with silken sheets. The silks on the right side were pulled back & he could see her lying down. "Enola, hi."

"That's Miss or Mrs. Holmes to you, dog."

"Alright. Trade insult for insult. I deserved that," John pushed the door open all the way.

Enola sat up cross-legged, wiping her eyes. She had been crying. "Close the door, Watson."

John did so. The ominous click of it shutting into place made him shudder. She couldn't eat him. He'll be fine. "I uh, well I—"

"Well?"

John sighed, risking a few steps closer to her. He noticed honey-colored points protruding ever so slightly from under her lips. "Look, I'm supposed to come up here & apologise to you but that would be a lie. The last time a Watson lied to you, that happened." He waved a hand indicating her eternal wound. "So do you want me to apologise or do you want the truth?"

"Well if you don't mean it, don't bother."

"Fine I won't," John turned to leave. "Glad that's settled. Maybe I'll send you some Botox for Christmas." He slammed the door behind him & marched downstairs. He found the hall leading through a common room to the main door outside.

"So how'd it go?" Mycroft asked ever so pleasantly.

John glanced around. He noticed the three brothers staring at him. Mycroft was sitting in an armchair; Sherrinford was stretched out across an ottoman, leg over the top; while Sherlock was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Uh, ha ha, well, you know."

There was a crashing as Enola came charging in, wings spread & fangs bared. "YOU!"

_"Ahh merde!"_ _("Oh shit!") _John turned & put a hand on the door.

Enola called out something in the old language. John yanked his hand away from the door as blue flames suddenly went up like a wall. "Hold your ground, werewolf!"

"Enola no!" The rest of the Holmes family yelled but it was too late.

"We were supposed to wait for his sister!" Sherrinford sat up straight, glaring.

"I don't care!" Enola shot back through teeth clenched even with her fangs exposed. She curled her hands into fists by her sides. "Destroy him. Now! I want him gone."

"John now what did you do?" Sherlock asked.

"Enola calm down," Mycroft stood up.

"Out of my way brother!" Enola's glare turned red. "It's no use. He's just like him. Stubborn & arrogant & he ruined my best dress!" She pulled back the tatters, leftovers of white satin from where her wings had cut through. John started laughing, softly at first but the sound grew louder. "What are you laughing at?" Enola demanded.

"You," John laughed. "You. I'm laughing at you Miss Holmes."

"Why?" Enola managed through an angry sob.

"News flash...Violet. I'm not a wolf," John said. "I don't transform on full moons. I have no fangs, no fur. I'm mostly vegetarian. I'm a doctor. I know my blood tests as human. So where do you get your information from? I'm just a human. Just … human."

"With a horrible disease not unlike my own," Sherlock said.

"I don't howl at the moon!" John stared at him, looking crushed. Was this family actually that crazy to believe he was a wolf?

"It's dormant," Mycroft said. "Has been for over a millennia."

"Ohh this is rich!" John rolled his eyes. He looked behind him to the flaming door, then sat in a chair next to a small table.

"John, I—"

"Don't speak to me right now, Sherlock," John sent him a dark look before turning his face away. "I thought you were my friend. Friends don't make up crazy stories like this."

"It isn't," Sherlock tried again.

"Believe me, if we weren't your friends, you'd be dead by now," Enola said.

"Now you know why your blood is lethal to us," Mycroft explained. He paused before adding. "As we are to your kind."

"Let's just wait for your sister," Sherrinford added. "She should be here any minute."

"Fine," John scowled. "We'll wait. Oh, one question Sherlock. Is Greg a zombie?"

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere," Sherlock glared. "No. He's quite human & knows none of this. It will remain that way."

"If it doesn't?" John sassed back.

"Don't test me, Watson," Sherlock glared, a flicker of red shot through his ice blue. "Enola put your wings away."

"Why should I?"

"Because Harriet & Clara will be here soon & I don't want them frightened," Sherlock began, his voice rising with each breath. "Because I said so & because I'll chop them off if you don't."

"What else?"

"NOW Enola!"

Enola swore in the ancient language under her breath but she did fold her wings behind her. They sunk into her back faster than lightening. She held up the front of her dress with one hand. "Satisfied?"

"Orgasmically so," Sherlock sent her the most impish childish smirk John had ever seen yet. John couldn't help but cough on a laugh as the others bemoaned Sherlock's name in frustration.

With a sudden whoosh, the blue flames disappeared. They had never burned anything. Anthea arrived a moment later through the door. She headed past everyone, indicating that they should follow. Anthea led them straight through the castle to a grand parlour that had glass doors opening up into a large backyard garden, greying now for the winter. Harriet & Clara were both seated here. They stood up as Anthea, then every one else, entered. Sherlock entered last, waiting for Harriet to be distracted.

"Hamish," Harry wrapped her arms around him. "What's going on?"

"Believe me, you don't want to know," John said. "But we have to tell you."

"What?"

"Let's sit down," John led her back to Clara. The three of them sat together on one long lounge.

Sherrinford, Mycroft & Enola took seats in front of them, nearby. Sherlock came to stand behind Enola. "Hi," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Harry stared at him in shock. "Y-Y-You're…you're dead!"

"I know."

"William, not now," Mycroft warned. "Mrs. Watson..."

"Harry or Harriet will do," Harry kicked in. She held Clara's hand in her lap on one side & John's hand also in her lap on the other.

"Very well," Mycroft nodded. "There are a few things you should know. Sherrinford will explain." He sat back as the eldest Holmes brother took over.

Harriet & Clara sat dumbfound as the man launched into a full explanation. The other three offered extra bits of information in between. They were eventually shown fangs & since Enola's dress was already ruined, she obliged by spreading her wings for a moment. Silence hung in the air at last as Enola shifted her wings away. John noticed she sat down with a wince. He didn't blame her. After seeing vampire wings twice in a row, he could understand the pain they caused. Enola's were luminous silver, webbed & pointed much like a bat's. Each point connected all the way into the back via a hard ridge at every intersection, almost as if the wings had several swords in them. Each. Living steel indeed.

Harriet looked at John. Slowly, she pushed his hand away. "You spent a night here with them."

"I'm fine," John turned down his collar & pulled back his sleeves. "See? No bites. There's apparently a reason for that."

"Yes, there is," Mycroft spoke up.

"Ah, here it comes," John was still disbelieving.

"Harriet, John," Mycroft ignored his scoff. "you are descended from a long line of Watsons. The name itself has changed over the millennia. But our two families have known each other since the beginning. Your family covered mine when we needed protection once when we were first turned."

John caught Sherlock's eye. "Your parents' friend?" Sherlock merely nodded.

"We found out later that they were wolves," Mycroft went on. "Werewolves. Lycans is the proper name. The wolf pack gave us shelter from those hunting us. They are the ancestors of you Watsons today."

"What?" Harriet & Clara both yelped.

Harry added, "I never transform on full moons."

"That's because it's dormant," John said.

"It is John," Mycroft was getting frustrated. "Lycanthropy is a disease just like vampirism. No cure for either. Like it or not, you have lycanthropy as does your sister."

"Bullshit!" Harriet laughed.

Mycroft buried his face in both hands. Sherlock took over. "Unlike vampires, your kind isn't dead. You can breed like the next human can. Unfortunately, the breeding is so mixed with uninfected humans by now that your Watson blood is thinned out. The original Watsons were much stronger than you.& they at least, could transform on full moons. By now, it's gone dormant."

"Still you're both carriers of it, which makes the two of you lethal to us," Sherrinford finished. "Hence why we didn't bite into him. Clara on the other hand," he raised both brows at her with a smile. Harriet put one arm protectively around her.

"Relax, he's playing," Mycroft waved it off with one hand. "We own several blood banks. We don't need to go on bloody hunting trips to feed." He glared at his oldest brother.

"Wolves mate for life, right?" John asked.

"Common wolves," answered Mycroft. "Lycans don't usually, but rarely they will."

"Well I don't!" John shot back in triumph, earning scoffs of laughter from everyone. "You know I don't."

"I've walked in on you having sex more than once," Sherlock admitted. "Each time with a different girl. Believe me, I know."

"Wait … WHAT?!"

"What?"

"How can I not know this?" John asked incredulously.

"So I see you mate with someone, so big deal," Sherlock shrugged. "John, I'm over—"

"Two thousand years old, I got it," John cross-rolled his eyes shut. How does one kill a vampire again?

Mycroft had his face in his hands again as he turned away. He finally managed to say, "You're a bloody idiot William!"

"I hate William," Sherlock grumbled.

"Anyway!" John got back to the point. "I can't be a wolf then."

Mycroft's eyes roamed over Harriet & Clara. "Take a good look at your sister. The life bond works with her & Harriet's Lycan gene isn't even activated yet."

"Yet? What do you mean?" Harriet asked.

"If any of you Watson's kill another, your lycanthropy will react," Enola said. "Badly."

"Again, I'm a soldier," John pointed out. "I've killed a few even though I am a doctor."

"A few humans, probably," Sherlock said. "We mean another. As in, another Lycan."

"There are other packs out there," Mycroft said. "Some of them have kept their blood strong. We know a few as personal friends; though, not as long as your family."

"Friends," Harriet mused. "Like Sherlock & John. So we can't be wolves! Aren't vampires & werewolves supposed to be mortal enemies?"

Mycroft sighed. "Vampires & werewolves have nothing to do with each other. They can be friends with anyone they wish. It matters not."

"Just don't go killing any dogs," Sherlock said. "Keep your lycanthropy at bay & you'll never have to deal with the pain of full moons or a lust for killing humans once a month."

"You're a soldier, John," Sherrinford added. "Wrong profession I'd say. You're lucky you haven't killed another Lycan already. Harriet will probably always stay dormant. She's not a killer. You are, even without giving into the wolf."

"Worse, you really are a killer outside of war," Sherlock added. "Like a certain cabbie for instance. Cold blooded murder on your part. You're lucky he was human."

John found it difficult to see any of the Holmes. His eyes were filled with water. Finally blinking to clear his vision, he felt his cheeks become wet. He stood up quickly. "I have to go out for some air."

"John."

"Leave me alone, Sherlock!" John whirled back at him, turning away from the door. "I just need a minute." He turned back & opened the door.

"You are crying," Sherlock tried again, taking a step towards him.

"_Sans blague, Sherlock! Sans blague!" ("No shit, Sherlock! No shit!")_ With that, John stepped outside, slamming the door despite it being made of glass. Fortunately, it didn't shatter.

"Brilliant deduction, Consulting Detective," Harry glared. "You deserve a medal. Come on Clara." She stood up, tugging Clara's hand. She led her mate outside after John.

Hearing Mycroft groan out 'William', Sherlock asked incredulously, "In what way is this my fault?"


	7. Chapter 7

**(7) A Walk In The Past**

John pulled his coat a little more tightly around himself. He had broken into a run the moment he was away from the door. Now, he had slowed down in a grove of alders that were growing in a large hollow of the ground. Manicured greying lawn rose up about him on all sides. John walked through the trees & up the other side, which was a bit higher than the part he had come down into the trees by. He stopped at last & looked around.

The castle rose up a ways behind him, the forest running up a steeper hill on its right-hand side. With daylight, John could see how it was shaped, like a large L-plan, with one arm, the Titanic hallway leading to the smaller dining room he was in earlier, touching the woodland guarding the cemetery's path. The grounds opened up behind it, running down towards a white sanded beach.

Apart from the forested hill leading away into the cemetery, the grounds spreading out on all sides were made of open meadowland, marred only by a large willow tree or fountain with a garden here & there. John was currently near one & from what he could see in that one alone was enough for him to guess the rest. The various gardens were filled with every flower from Amaranths & Birds-of-paradise to Sunflowers, Lilac trees & Wisterias; just about every flower John could think of. Most of the bushes no longer bore flowers, or had a few dried up ones. The plants were slowly falling asleep. Sunflowers hung their grey heads, seeds ready for picking. Small songbirds happily helped themselves.

Though the dark storm clouds remained, threatening more rain, rays of sun shone through gaps, illuminating parts of the grounds. Other parts were shrouded in mist, a light rain. John could see large animals in the distance milling about in a field covered with a thick low cloud, either cows or horses. Sherlock had a riding crop. Possibly horses then. Shrouded in another cloud stood a far-off building, detached from the castle. It looked large, square or rectangular. The barn no doubt.

A wailing cry sounded in the distance, answered by something close to him. There was a flail of wings & a blue & white partial albino peacock came into view, landing on the ground nearby.

John turned to his right a little, his eyes following the driveway back to the road, or so he expected. The driveway went through a tunnel of beech trees stretching back for almost a mile & disappeared around a bend. A few more peacocks of various colors strutted about on the lane. "Where am I?" The place was stunningly beautiful, even now. Overwhelming. John shook his head. If it looked like this now, he could only imagine how it would appear in the late spring. The Holmes had this place for over a millennia. They'd have the time to work on it; though, it was the last thing one would expect vampires to own. A big dark castle? Yes, with lots of stone. Not this.

John looked towards the cemetery again, thinking of the painting of wolves he had seen in the bedroom. Wolves. Lycans perhaps? Wait, Watsons of old? Even worse. No wonder Anthea led him to that particular room. With a scowl, he picked his way around the castle, giving it a wide berth, heading for the beach he had seen from the top of a hill. He stepped out onto it about twenty minutes later. The white sand was glaring & he had to shield his eyes for a while until he got used to it.

_SS_. _Leda_ floated along a single pier nearby. She was a large blue & white yacht with gold railing. After a moment past, John wondered somewhat darkly if it was real gold. He walked by. Several white & two black swans swam away in disgust at his intrusion. They headed further into the bay, bobbing over the surf crashing in, heads turned back glare at him. ("He didn't even bring any breadcrumbs!" John could just imagine the complaints running through all their heads. "What a moron!")

"Well sorry!" John sassed back at the stupid birds, even though they were probably too far away to hear him by now. He called out to them. "Hey look! Shark! Ha." John stomped off muttering incoherently under breath.

Leaving the beach, John turned upwards into a copse of walnut & hazel trees, nuts still on the branches. He pushed through a few low branches, coming out beside what he had earlier thought was the barn. It wasn't a barn but seemed to be an old building for a church or school. He rounded the corner.

"Finished running away yet?"

John glanced around. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"My place. I go where I want," Sherlock uncrossed his ankles & arms to stand straight away from the side of the building. "I saw you coming up from the beach."

"That's nice," John grumbled, walking away. Sherlock put his hands behind his back & followed annoyingly close. John stopped. "What do you want?"

"Come inside," Sherlock grabbed his hand & tugged him back to the building. "The rain is moving in here." They paused a moment as two horses blocked the way temporarily, pretending to trot by. Sherlock gave the closest one a smack on its rump to make it actually move.

Up close, John noticed that these weren't regular horses. They were riding animals but yet larger than what one would usually expect, with thicker necks & wider bodies. They seemed bred for power, but they weren't the usual Draft horse either, such as Belgian or Clydesdale. John wondered where he had seen these kinds of horses before. Something was very familiar about them.

Once inside, Sherlock released John's hand & turned on the light. The place seemed to be a museum of sorts. He saw a few original paintings from various eras. Under glass lay a copy of Beowulf's poem. Or could it be the original, considering the language it was in? Looking ahead & through a glass wall to the right, John saw a very old car, the first one ever made apparently, according to Sherlock. Several original items from both wars were here to, from an old army bike (complete with sidecar & machine gun) to helmets & even a small tattered Swastika. Doors & archways at the ends of halls led away in all directions. John wondered just how many artefacts were here.

Thunder suddenly vibrated loudly & the next moment, rain could be heard coming down in bucketfuls. Sherlock was right, a storm had been rolling in.

"Well, it looks like we're stuck in here a bit," Sherlock said, sitting down at a wooden picnic table in the center where several books lay. "You canines love water. Bats? Not so much."

"You're a bat?" John half-laughed.

"Everyone associates vampires with bats," Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know why. Must be the wing form."

"As for me," John sat down. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I just can't believe I'm a wolf."

"Well, you're not really," Sherlock tried vaguely to comfort him. "It's been dormant so long that it shouldn't affect you. Unless..."

"I kill another Lycan."

"Exactly," Sherlock nodded. "You being a soldier, it could happen. Not likely with your sister though."

John sighed & stared out the window on the far wall near the door they had entered. Sheets of water washed over it so that he could hardly see anything. It lit up momentarily, a lightening bolt, then went back its dull grey color. The wall the window was in had another mural painted over it; an old battle of Knights on their warhorses. Destriers as they were called. Extinct now. John thought again of the horses outside. He looked around behind him & saw chainmail for a large warhorse arranged on a wooden horse. It was surrounded with glass. The rider's chainmail was on a stand nearby with a lance leaning against it. He thought again of the horses outside & turned to catch Sherlock's eye. "Sherlock … those horses out there. What are they?"

"Destriers."

"They're extinct!"

"Are they? I never knew."

John rubbed his hands through his hair. "Like walking into the past."

"Time travel is impossible."

"So which way does Earth go around the sun?" John shot back with an evil smirk.

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

Sherlock stood up, annoyed. "That was mine," he waved a hand to the glass box of horse & rider's chainmail. "A few centuries old now of course."

John cast a shocked glance at the display & then at Sherlock. "You're a Knight?"

"I was of the Knights Templar," Sherlock shrugged.

"A Templar?"

"We all were. I was even at the Round Table once or twice."

"Isn't that myth?" John asked.

"Most of it is. There's even confusion of whether it was from the 9th century or 12th. But it's really a bit of both. It started in the end of the 9th century. So much history has been lost but the main things are still known. Such as the Round Table. That sword in that display over there?" Sherlock indicated another glass box with horse & rider's chainmail. A long sword stood in place of a lance. "Mycroft's. Crossed steel with Excalibur on more than one occasion. Friendly, of course. Training. Men fooling around."

John stood up so fast he nearly toppled himself over the attached bench of the picnic table. "Sherlock! Is...is Excalibur here?"

"No, she's at the bottom of some lake not even I know," Sherlock stood up as well. "Fights within that family. The blade got cast around. Finally, it was better no one have it so it was thrown away into hiding."

John put his hands on the table for support. "Aww man! This is a lot to take in. Vampires. Werewolves. Last Titanic survivor. Destriers. Excalibur lost." He closed his eyes & sighed.

"Would you like to step back even farther?"

"What do you mean?" John asked.

Sherlock led him over to a small stand. Under glass & lying on white satin was quite possibly the largest nail John had ever seen. About nine inches or so. It had a dark color from its point half way up. "That is one big nail."

"It's a crucifix nail." Sherlock walked away without another word.

John stared at it for several minutes as that sunk in. He stood straight. "...N-no...can't be." He glanced around. "Sherlock? Sherlock!" Finding himself alone, John looked again at the nail. "Oh that really, can't be! Sherl—OH! You're here."

"From the right hand of Christ, yes. John!" Sherlock grabbed him as the doctor wavered on his feet. "Ok, I think that's enough for one day." He laughed softly, patting John's shoulder.

"Yes," John gasped weakly. "I think it is."

Sherlock helped John back to the table to sit down. He moved off to check out the window, looking for an end in the torrent outside. John watched him through half-closed eyes, still weak from absorbing everything. He did not see the Consulting Detective he was used to & from now on, John knew he never would even if they went back to that life in 221B. Sherlock Holmes was so much more than that now. An ancient yet timeless creature; one who had walked with Christ himself it seems. Well of course, John mentally kicked himself. Sherlock's time was 33 years before that. Every Holmes here had seen so much. John felt suddenly young again, but not in a good way. He could never hope to see even half as much as even one Holmes had. Humans—werewolves—were not immortal.

Sherlock suddenly turned to him. "What do you think you can do for Enola?"

"What? I uh," John scratched his head. "No idea. Besides, she doesn't want me around so I can't examine her."

"We've tried everything," Sherlock went on. "Don't add false hope."

"I won't," said John. "Isn't Christ a healer?"

Sherlock came back to the table & sat down. "It happened during the ending of King Arthur, long after Merlin disappeared so he couldn't help us. So it was after we were with Christ, but He had once told us things happen for a reason. To everything there is a purpose."

"That's a Bible line," John said. "But I was referring to Vampirism it self. You all were turned 33 years before Christ was born. Why didn't He just cure you all of it?"

"Oh He asked us about it," Sherlock replied. "We never even told Him but He knew. After some consideration, we declined. Sherry's idea. We … didn't want to give up being able to fly."

"Oh," John laughed. "I probably wouldn't either."

"We've all become used to being vampires," Sherlock went on. "It's just Enola's eternal wound that worries us all."

"Well," John stretched himself, arms over his head for a moment. "All this blows the theory that vampires are evil & can't be around anything sacred right out of the water. I mean, walked with Christ. Can't get more sacred then that."

"We're all God's creatures," Sherlock shrugged. "Some are good, some are bad. Besides, as you said, He is a healer & it's just a disease. When the time comes, we'll be cured of it."

"Hang on, isn't Judas Iscariot supposed to be the first vampire?"

"No," Sherlock said. "he was human. Same with Vlad Dracula; well Dracula was a vampire but not the first even thought he's another one thought to be the first."

"Dracula is real?" John gasped.

"Was. Horrid fellow. No one wanted to be near him, no matter what species. He was as cruel as people say. If there was ever a more evil creature to walk this Earth, it was him," Sherlock lifted his chin a little over steepled fingers. "I've had the dreadful displeasure of meeting him. He almost turned me to ash, but not before a day of torture that I will never forget. One of Mycroft's friends rescued me."

John looked away. "Why did...Dracula...capture you? What did he want?"

"Nothing. Simple amusement is all. The world's greatest killer & he just happened to be vampire as well. Fortunately, he has been destroyed. Quite recently in fact, in the last two hundreds years only. He was over five thousand years old."

John shuddered & quickly changed the topic back. "Who is the first then?" After a moment, he added, "Oh, is it one named Micah de LaCie?"

"Don't mention that name!" Sherlock snapped. "No. No one really knows. It's always been around."

"There is a Bible book with that name," John mused. "Is this vampire that saint?"

"Absolutely not," Sherlock shook his head. "I met Saint Micah once. Nice guy. Human. It's a common name. Just don't mention it when referring to that vampire."

"Alright," John half smiled. "I just had to ask. We're all Catholics here after all."

"None of the saints, fallen ones included like Judas, are vampires."

John suddenly tossed his head, trying to clear it. "Great. I now have Lady Gaga's 'Judas' stuck in my head. Wonderful!" Sherlock burst out laughing. John scowled. "I hate her! Why that song?"

"Sorry my dear fellow, but you're on your own here." Sherlock was still laughing.

"Oh look. The rain's stopped," John changed the subject, still scowling. "We should get back."

Sherlock led the way to the door. He held it open for John to leave. "Feel free to come back here any time. There's a stairwell near the Nail. The basement has plenty more history, a lot of it British. But there's other things as well from all over the world."

"Will do," John muttered. "Where are we anyway?"

"Up past the Cheviots," Sherlock replied. "Almost at the Scotland-England border. Near Berwick-upon-Tweed."

"Far from home," John whistled. "Well, I mean your modern home. When are you coming back to London?"

"Probably a week or so," Sherlock fell in step beside him as they headed back to the castle through the wet grass. "Mrs. Hudson already knows I'm coming back. I talked to her yesterday."

"Does she know you're a vampire?"

"No," answered Sherlock. "No one else will know about that. Not even Inspector Lestrade. The story they'll hear is that it was just a stage trick. The ground was padded. I was drugged up with morphine. I'm fine. Alive & well. Would you like to come back & be my partner again?"

"Definitely!" John didn't hesitate to answer.

"Good. I'll let Mrs. Hudson know you're coming," Sherlock smiled, happy to be picking up their old life together.


	8. Chapter 8

**(8) Return To Arms**

John finally sat down in his favorite chair in the old familiar flat of 221B. He had been helping Mrs. Hudson for the past week, removing cobwebs (not to mention about a billion inhabitants thereof, much to the 8-legged creatures' displeasure), dusting, cleaning, organising & a billion & one other things. The flat had remained locked & untouched in three years & needed a lot of attention. John had removed some of the old furniture to be replaced with new pieces that Sherlock would bring in, but Mrs. Hudson had taken extra care of his chair by bringing it down into her own flat. When he brought it back up at last, he sank down wearily into it.

Mrs. Hudson fussed & simpered about him, saying once again how she couldn't believe Sherlock had faked everything. Just wait until Greg hears about this. Won't he be shocked? John smiled & nodded, going along with the story Sherlock had pitched. He knew what really happened. Sherlock hadn't faked a thing. He didn't need to. John was still trying to wrap his mind about his friend's 'condition' other than just Asperger's. He had yet to even reconsider his own 'condition' he apparently had, a gift from Watson ancestors. Lycanthropy. He & Harry had not mentioned another word about it. They were taken home later that same day John had been in the Holmes personal museum & then John had come here late that very night, last week. They avoided the issue at all costs. Not even Clara mentioned it.

John roused himself when he heard voices from downstairs. Sherlock soon appeared & finished setting the place to rights, complete with a new couch for him to lie on. He set his violin case nearby, texted something to someone on his mobile, then turned to John with that impish smile. John noticed that Sherlock was wearing what everyone (except Sherlock who scowled at the name) called 'the purple shirt of sex', either way, his favorite shirt. He wondered what would happen if Sherlock ever had to cut his wings while wearing that shirt. He would be mad at himself for ruining it perhaps.

"Shall we go down to Mrs. Hudson's flat?" Sherlock asked, tucking a large yellow envelope under one arm. "She invited Lestrade & his posse over for tea so that we can meet up with him."

"I can't wait to see the look on Anderson's face when you show up," John grinned, heading for the stairs.

"Facebooking it?"

"Hell yeah!" John held up a small camera mobile.

"You're hopeless."

Mrs. Hudson already had tea set out for everyone. She set Sherlock & John down on her couch & then answered the door a moment later. She led Lestrade, Anderson & Miss Donovan into the living room to be seated in front of the Baker Street pair. The three of them stared at the two across the room, then stared even more with 'deer in headlights' looks. John continued to hold his camera in one hand, causally as if he wasn't doing anything. Anderson's jaw ended up on the floor. Sally soon joined it in a dead faint.

"What?" Greg finally managed to stammer out.

"So putting that faint on YouTube," John snickered.

"You're dead!" Greg continued to stare at Sherlock. John & Sherlock burst out laughing. Greg had no idea what he just said. "This isn't funny!" Greg protested.

"Here." Mrs Hudson came running up to Anderson's side as fast as an old lady with a bad hip could do, which seemed to be rather fast. She handed over a damp cloth. "Rub her face down until she comes to." Anderson did what he was told, still gaping at the corpse (if only he knew) sitting across from him that seemed very much alive.

"What happened?" Greg finally asked.

"Stage trick," Sherlock shrugged, repeating the story. "In fact, Molly helped me set up."

"Molly?" John looked up. Sherlock hadn't mentioned her before.

"She rolled me away after I jumped," Sherlock said. "Someone had to declare me dead & write out a death certificate."

"You do beat all, Holmes!" Greg grumbled, turning his attention to Mrs. Hudson a moment to take some biscuits she was offering. Anderson was helping Sally settle into an armchair, fanning her face.

John took this moment to whisper discreetly, "Does Molly know the truth then?"

"No," Sherlock busied himself with tea. "I'm the one who set up the stage, so she & all here think. She was curious about all the blood that I was soaked in but I gave her several empty blood bags to appease that. She thought I had used it to paint myself up. I really just drank it all long before I jumped. Just after I sent you away really."

John sat back with a small scoff. "Of course you did."

"I felt a little fat after," Sherlock shrugged. "Had one bag to many I guess."

"Is that why you fell—_thwunk_—like a tree?" John burst out laughing.

"Shut up!"

"What's so funny?" Anderson asked, sitting down near Sally.

"Ah Sherlock's being his usual goofball self," John snickered.

Sherlock leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Be grateful your blood is poison to me."

"Shoo!" John put a hand on Sherlock's face & shoved him away.

"It's good to have you back," Greg put in. "Your brother Mycroft, recently informed us about who Moriarty was."

"But we still have this issue of those children," Anderson added.

"Not anymore," Sherlock stood up & moved across the room to hand Greg the envelope. "I've been working that case these past three years as well. All your information is there. Including a confession of the real," He glared at Sally. "kidnapper."

"Of course," Sally shot back. "You put it together. Fabricated."

"You're a lovely shade of charcoal grey, Miss Donovan," Sherlock turned to her. "What's the matter? Still feeling faint?"

"What are you, racist?" Sally glared.

"Whoa!" John buried his face in one hand.

"I like black people just fine," Sherlock replied coolly. "It's just you no one likes." He turned back to Greg. "You will have names of others who know what happened in this case. Plenty of proof that I did not fabricate anything."

Sally stood up. "What a freak!" She began marching for the door.

"Don't you dare call him that again!" John blocked her way. Next moment, there was a crack & Sally was once more on the floor.

"JOHN!" Sherlock actually screamed at him. His eyes darted from the war hero still in a boxing pose to Sally on the floor holding her nose. "What did you do that for? I didn't think you were one to beat up ladies."

"When you see a lady, point her out to me!" John glared. He hissed at Sally kneeling before him. "You have no idea what you're saying when you call him a freak. Say that again & I'll really hurt you. Understand?"

"John, careful," Sherlock warned. "Cops about. You know. Not good?"

"He's right Doctor," Greg stood up. "I'm sorry but I'll have to take you in for this."

"Mmm hessen arshedge," Sally tried saying 'I'm pressing charges' in spite of her broken nose.

"Go right ahead!" John spat at her.

"Physical assault, on a police woman no less. Threaten with intent to harm later. Watson, do you have any idea how much trouble you're in right now?"

"Just read the rights, Greg," John retorted.

"I'll let Anderson deal with you," Greg jerked his head at the man. "Take over. Sherlock? I'll have to look things over. Expect a call from me later. Who knows, you might end up beside John, depending what all is in the envelope."

"Don't bet on it," Sherlock muttered, shaking his head at John. "Sorry Dear Watson, but there's nothing I can do for you right now."

"I'll be fine," John felt the cold of cuffs being slapped onto his wrists. "It felt fucking good!"

"JOHN!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. "I'm a lady just so you know."

"Right, sorry ma'am."

"Don't mention it," Mrs. Hudson laughed. "I enjoyed seeing a bad-arsed side of you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then started laughing. "Miss Donovan needs a doctor. Sad fact? She was just punched by one. Whatever happened to not harming your patients?"

"That's a good point," Anderson agreed.

"So not helping me right now, William!" John glowered as he was led away.

"Unbelievable," Greg huffed. "Sherlock, I'll try closing this case within a day or two." He held up the envelope, referring to the kidnapped children. "I hope it's cleared up. I really could use your help on a huge case right now."

"The four murders north southeast southwest & east of London's outskirts right?"

Greg was at a loss for a moment. How did Sherlock think so far ahead like this? "Yeah, that's the one."

"I'm already on it," Sherlock said absent-mindedly, replying to a text he had recently received.

"'Course you are," Greg gave up. Not only fast but also a multi-tasker. "Goodnight. Thank you for the tea." He put one arm around Sally after they stepped outside. "Just keep your head back. I have more Kleenex in the cruiser."

Once alone with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock muttered. "First night back at the old flat & I'm alone. Ah well. There's always something."

"Will you play for a bit?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Probably," Sherlock headed up the stairs.

"Oh that'd be lovely," said Mrs. Hudson. "I missed hearing your violin."

Sherlock smiled at her before heading into the flat. "Goodnight." He went to the window where he used to play & took the violin out of the case. He started with 'Nadia's Theme' (later used as the theme for 'The Young & The Restless' but without the words) for Mrs. Hudson before picking through some of his old music sheets he wrote himself. He played well into dawn.

Sherlock set the instrument aside at last & began a search on his mobile. He suddenly looked up through the window into his Mind Palace. After a moment, he grabbed his long black coat & ran for the nearest cab.

About an hour later, Sherlock was standing outside alone on the edge of the road leading into countryside. He closed his eyes, breathing in the cool morning air. When he opened them again, ice-blue was tinged with red. Vampire. Stalking. He hurried along the road for about twenty minutes before turning off into a cornfield. Towards the center, Sherlock found blood-covered broken stalks. He stepped into a literal blood bath.

The body was cut into parts, each piece laid next to each other from head to foot in one row. Underneath was another row, this one made up of organs. Heart. Liver. Everything else. "Just like the other four." Sherlock stood up fast & glanced around. "Sacrifice. Greg this is so not your division." He crouched down over the human altar again & dipped his fingers in some blood still oozing from the heart. "Might as well," With an arrogant shrug, he licked them clean, then turned on his mobile. "Mycroft? He's back."

"I knew it," Mycroft hissed, walking towards a tall window with a round top. He looked out through the painted glass of an angel watching two children cross a dangerous bridge. "The four murders of London. The position they were in. Are you west now?"

"Yes & they are all set in sacrifice."

"So he's already finished the Pentagram," Mycroft rubbed his forehead. "If only I had found that third altar in time before he moved on."

"Well it's too late now," Sherlock stood up, heart in hand, munching on it. "He's gone & finished the spell."

"Are you eating that altar?"

"Why not?" Sherlock took another bite. "Spell is already set. Besides, don't we want to destroy Micah de LaCie anyway? This would annoy him." Hearing Mycroft's heavy sigh of frustration, he slurped loudly on the blood of the heart. "Still quite fresh. You're missing out."

"You're disgusting."

"Whose fault is that?" Sherlock stopped eating & was suddenly livid. "Who came to my home a few thousand years ago & decided it would be nice to bite his baby brother? Hmm? Yeah, thought so." Another loud slurp.

"Stop that," Mycroft complained. "I need to think."

"No, you need to get Lestrade off this case," Sherlock pointed out, sauntering through the cornfield back to the road. He finished up the last bit of heart & began licking his fingers clean, much like how a cat would do.

"Oh that Inspector," Mycroft whined. "Where's a bank robber or something when you need one?"

"You got it," Sherlock hung up.

"NOT YOU WILLI—hello? Dumbarse!" Mycroft nearly threw his mobile away but instead put it back into his pocket.

A few hours later, John looked up, hearing his door open. Sherlock was shoved inside & the door slide closed & locked again. "What are you in for?" John asked.

"Pulled a Moriarty," Sherlock sat down next to him. "Pretended to rob a bank."

"What? Why?" John all but sobbed in frustration.

"To distract Lestrade," Sherlock said. "Those four murders? There's a fifth one today. Each one is a sacrifice set at the point of a Pentagram. An old friend of Mycroft's is back."

"Great," John sat back. "I should be out of here in a few hours. I have some papers to sign. Then I have to show up in court a week from today. Dono-bitch pressed some huge charges."

"I can loan you whatever money you need."

"I'll be fine."

"You were fined."

"Shut up!"

"Please, you walked into that one."

"Whatever," John complained. "Well, at least I have company."

"No, you don't," Sherlock replied. "I'm supposed to keep Lestrade occupied remember? Away from Micah de LaCie? See you later." He put one hand outside the bars to cover the keyhole. John felt a shiver as if the heat was suddenly sucked from the air. There was a click & the door swung open. Sherlock stepped out & closed the door. There was another click. "Nothing a little sorcery can't fix. I was able to bend the lock to my will. I'll see you later." With that, a fog rose up & shrouded Sherlock from sight, leaving John alone.

John knew the mist was a covering. A vampire was inside it...somewhere, using the moisture to hide in, but good luck finding him. "That is so not fair!" John yelled. "How am I supposed to answer when they ask me how you escaped?" He looked around, hearing someone come towards him. "_Sacre bleu!"_ _("Sacred blue!")_ John glanced around, then dived onto his bed & pretended to go straight to sleep.

"Alright Doctor Watson," Lestrade was saying opening the door. "Let's get these sig—where is Holmes?"

"Hmm?" John woke up, very sleepy eyed. "What?"

"Anderson just put him in here," Lestrade put his hands on his hips. "Now where is William Sherlock Scott Holmes?"

"You woke me up," John mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," Lestrade motioned for John to walk out. "I don't know what he's up to, but his little experiments have gone too far. He pretended to rob a bank!"

"Must have something to do with whatever case he's working on," John offered.

"I'll find out how he escaped," Lestrade threatened. "Let's get rid of you, first."

"Gee, thanks!"

"You're welcome."

After dealing with John, Lestrade drove him back to 221B. He followed up the stairs after the war doctor & entered the flat. Sherlock & Mycroft were both sitting there. Innocent looking.

"You!" Lestrade pointed at Sherlock.

"Yes, I am me."

"Don't get smart!" Lestrade huffed. "What in God's name are you trying to pull?"

"What do you mean?"

"That fake bank robbery!"

Mycroft passed his empty glass to Sherlock who had gotten up. "My brother has been here the whole time. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Anderson just arrested him!" Lestrade insisted. "He put him in the same cell with John. You remember, right John?"

"I know you woke me up, that's all," John shrugged.

"Don't forget your court date in a week," Lestrade shot back.

"How're those kids coming along?" Sherlock asked.

"We closed it," Lestrade said. "Moriarty had your placed bugged & used those images to trick the children into thinking it was all you. I was going to call you but then I got a call saying the bank was nearly robbed & you were picked up."

"Really?" Sherlock stuck his head in the fridge, looking for something or other. "What time was that?"

"Around noon."

"Here are the images of that time," Mycroft turned his laptop to face Lestrade. "First my camera from out there." He pointed across the street to the one aimed at 221B. It showed Sherlock standing on the front steps, not at a bank, at that particular time. "Now your bank. Can't see much really with that mist. Anyway, look at the time index on the bank's camera's. It takes almost an hour to get from there to here. This image of Sherlock on the steps out there is only five minutes after your botched robbery. But we can't really see through that fog in the bank."

"Must be the sprinkler system that caused all that fog," Greg grumbled.

"Oooh fog," Mycroft shivered. "How delightfully spooky." Greg stared as he heard a snort from Sherlock. John facepalmed. Sherlock had merely gathered mist about him & then flown home the moment he was out of sight, in a matter of seconds. John felt a little sorry for Greg but what could he do?

"Sorry. Bad wine. Pay me no mind." Sherlock put the wine bottle away, a great stupid grin spread out on his face once he was turned away from Lestrade & half up in the fridge again.

Greg sighed. "I need a vacation." He was about to leave.

"Here. Plane tickets. To Vancouver, Canada. The hockey games are going on there right now." Mycroft handed over an official looking envelope.

Greg stared at him. "Oh. I get it. This has something to do with the Secret Service right?"

Mycroft smiled oh-so-sweetly. "You have no idea." He stood holding out the tickets. Greg continued to stare at him for a long awkward moment. He took the tickets. The two continued to stare at each other.

Sherlock rubbed one hand through his hair. "Honestly, kiss & get it over with."

"SHERLOCK!" Lestrade & John both yelped.

"Oh please! Everyone knows Mycroft has a crush on Lestrade since for ever."

Greg cast a horrified look at Mycroft. "Is this true?" Mycroft merely shrugged, still smiling softly. "I don't swing that way."

"How do you know? Have you ever tried?"

"Oh dear Lord," Sherlock muttered under breath.

"I... … … really need a vacation."

"I thought so," Mycroft gave Lestrade a little shove. "So why are you still here? There're tickets for the wife & boys as well. Enjoy yourself. I've already cleared things up with your department."

"I officially have a migraine," Lestrade moaned, walking away.

"I can fix that," John said, getting up to follow. He picked up his small medicine bag on the table beside his chair.

Once the two of them were on the street by the cruiser, Mycroft huffed. "I thought he would never leave."

"I can't believe you'd actually try flirting with him just to get him away from Micah," Sherlock handed over the bottle of wine he had declared bad earlier. "Unvirgin B."

"Thanks," Mycroft helped himself to a swig of it. "Hey whatever works. Micah would kill him if given half a chance."

"I know," Sherlock watched the top of the stairs for John. "So now what? He's finished his sorcery. Any ideas?"

"Jacob is coming to the castle tomorrow," Mycroft said. "Perhaps you & John should come back with me now. John might like to meet Jacob."

"I doubt it," Sherlock shrugged. "He has no regard for his Lycanthropy. He wouldn't care about meeting another Lycan, especially one of the Grant clan. They kept their blood pure."

"Sherlock, perhaps you have forgotten," Mycroft took another drink from the bottle. "The Pentagram is up. Full moon's in a week & John was right here in the heart of London when that spell was finished. I've already sent someone to move Harriet & Clara to a safe location before Micah erects another Pentagram over Cardiff, just in case; though his target was John."

"Yeah well, he got him," Sherlock took the bottle back, having a drink. "Moriarty had vampire pals he didn't know about & they were already working on entrapping John. Still, Mr. LaCie moved so fast, even for me."

"There is only one way out of this spell that John has."

"He won't like that one bit," Sherlock said. "I'll talk to him. He's a soldier. He has the right to know that he's in a war once more."


	9. Chapter 9

**(9) Cursed Alternative**

"Well, he's mad that he & his family have been kicked out the whole country for a while," John said as he entered the flat after being with Lestrade for a while. "I had to really convince him to go. Do you know how hard it is to convince someone when you know the truth & they don't but you can't tell them?" He sighed heavily, flopping down in his chair.

"You did the right thing John," said Mycroft. "Sherly, I'll send Jacob over later this evening." He picked up his brolly & left.

"Who's Jacob?" John asked. Sherlock put his goblet on the table by the sofa. He came to stand in front of John, hands clasped in front of him. "What, have I been a bad doggie?"

Sherlock smiled at him for a moment, briefly amused. "No, but you are in a lot of trouble."

"What did I do, or didn't do?" John teased. Sherlock took one of John's hands in between his own. He stroked the top of John's hand with a long index finger, then bent to kiss the same spot. John's brow shot into his hairline. "Um, Sherlock?"

"You've been caught by a snare," Sherlock knelt down in front of him, releasing John's hand. "Micah is the murderer we're after right now."

"I know that."

Sherlock tapped something out on his mobile & handed it to John. A small map of London was on it with five red dots. "Each dot is where the five murders happened." He pressed a finger between John's to press another button. The dots became connected by lines. "The Pentagram. Each murder was laid out sacrificially. John, all vampires & Lycans have some sort of what one would say magical power. Most are weak & basic. Like that barricade of blue fire Enola used on you. Very few can do something strong like this. No Holmes can. Micah de LaCie on the other hand."

"You told me some vampires posed as sorcerers," said John. "But so they don't have to kill. Micah does."

"I said so they don't have to kill for blood," Sherlock corrected. "Most was so they don't have to kill at all. He isn't one of them. He uses his powers for his own gain."

"So what does a Pentagram do?"

"It's a horrible curse," Sherlock stood up. "For Lycans in this case. As if lycanthropy isn't a bad enough curse."

John let the mobile fall to the floor. "What?"

"You're not going to make it for that court date, John," Sherlock picked up the mobile to hand it back. "You'll either be locked on the grounds of the Holmes castle, or dead."

"Why would you lock me up at the castle?"

"Full moon. I can't have you running about London killing everyone."

"I'm not active. You said so yourself."

"The Pentagram was completed with you at the center of it," Sherlock explained. "Its spell can be manipulated a bit, depending how the altars are set, to affect a certain Lycan with anything. In you're case, since you're not awakened; it is set to kill you in the cruellest way possible. The only way to escape this one is to awaken. Kill another Lycan. However, do that & you're exposed to the full moon. Either way, you're going to be in too much pain the date of your court appearance that you simply won't make it. You'll either curl up & die or curl up & wish to die."

John whimpered, sounding frightfully close to the sound of a puppy. He cleared his throat. "Sherlock ..."

"Don't be too frightened of the moon," Sherlock went on. "It won't kill you but it will make you suffer."

"In a week, someone dies then? Is that what you're telling me?" John's voice was a horse whisper. He thought back to that kiss on his hand. Sherlock had never done that before. What had been a fantasy was now forced into reality. John had hoped to forgot the lycanthropy. He wasn't awake to it & had planned on keeping it that way. Given how serious—somber—Sherlock was, John was hit with a fear he hadn't felt before, despite his disregarding belief about what he was.

Sherlock turned away, his reply inaudible to human ears, yet John heard it. John always had exceptional hearing. Now he knew why. "I am...so...sorry, Dear Watson."

John stood up behind Sherlock, placing both hands on each of his shoulder blades. "Despite what you think of me, I am not a cold blooded murderer. I shot the cabbie in defence of you, not just to kill someone. I can't go out & kill some random dog just to spare my life. You know I can't. I hope you know anyway."

"Then you're dead by next Tuesday," Sherlock turned to face John. "It is your life & your choice but before you make that decision final, there is a war going on still. Of vampires & Lycans. You're a soldier."

"So bats & mutts are against each other then?" John tried to laugh in spite of everything.

"No," Sherlock explained. "Lycans are to vampires as common dogs are to humans. So there are both on either side. Grant & Watson were always loyal to the Holmes, well until your clan betrayed us. Your pack has since gone rogue, going more & more towards humans. It's been a long time since a Watson wolf took interest in my family again."

"I didn't even know you existed until Mike Stamford set us up," John put in. Sherlock started laughing mirthlessly. "What?"

"You have no idea how close you came to death that day," Sherlock said.

"No," John laughed as well. "Vampire was the last thing on my mind when I first saw you. Weirdo, on the other hand ..."

"No John," Sherlock shook his head. "I meant the death of you. I nearly killed you the moment Mike uttered your last name."

"Oh?" John sat down again.

"Mike had brought in one or two other people for me," Sherlock began. "But it didn't work. Then he brought you in. At first glance, I knew you were military. You know, the usual. Then he said your name. It turned me colder than usual. A Watson! Standing before again. How dare he? In that nanosecond, several things went through my mind, all for my sister. The only thing that stopped me from spreading a wing to sever your head from your shoulders was Mike. Simple human Mike. I was never so frustrated in my life & had half a mind to get rid of the human as well just to destroy you but I & my family try to spare the innocent, dumb as they can be at times. You got lucky."

"You hated me."

"Oh yes! I could barely stand the sight of you."

"Wow," John rubbed his forehead. He knew it shouldn't but this information was bothering him. Hated by Sherlock? It hurt. Even though he wasn't hating him now. "I didn't feel any of that. After the initial, 'he's such a weirdo' feeling past, I was rather intrigued by you. Something alluring about you."

"Yeah about that," Sherlock didn't act surprised. "That was done on purpose. Remember how I flirted with you? Swaggered by. Wink & smile."

"Yeah, you did come off as a bit gay, not that there's a thing wrong with that," John smiled. "But you said you're not."

"No, I'm not," Sherlock said. "but all vampires do have one basic power. Charm. We can seduce anyone to do anything. A bit like a mermaid at sea with sailors. I wanted you to come home with me but … so I could kill you. Here."

John shot to his feet. "You put a spell on me just to lure me here?"

"Yes," Sherlock admitted flat out to his face.

John scoffed. "Is any of our friendship real then?"

"Of course," Sherlock went on hastily. "A simple charm spell doesn't last long. It wears off in a day or two."

"Am I under any of your enchantments now?"

"No, that was the only one," Sherlock said. "Well that I did. LaCie's Pentagram is a problem though."

"Why didn't you kill me then?"

"You weren't active," Sherlock said. "It shocked me. The Watson clan have all gone to sleep. After the attack on Ennie, we didn't monitor your pack. That's how upset we all were. In fact, Shane & Adrian … well, they went out," He sighed heavily. "They slaughtered half the pack."

"What?"

"A few got away but," Sherlock paused. "You nearly went extinct. Probably why Watson's mingled with humans. So when one came crawling back into my life—you—everything was so different. You were still Lycan but didn't even know it. So, sorry but, as Moriarty said—oh he had no idea! You really were my pet for a while. I kept you close. Studied you. Since you knew nothing of your past or mine, I decided perhaps I wouldn't have to kill you after all. Your pack had been weakened both by slaughter & human blood. You were no longer a threat."

"Unbelievable," John murmured to himself. He looked Sherlock up & down. This man who he thought a friend had very nearly ended up being his executioner. He blinked his eyes dry before looking up to meet Sherlock's gaze. "So, you're telling me that I was pretty much your prisoner, under house arrest here, all this time?"

"No. Only up until I saw that bomb strapped to you," Sherlock said. "Moriarty's captive."

"It took you that long to actually start caring?"

"Took me even longer to admit it," Sherlock added. "Not until Baskerville when you got mad at me. For some reason, I was really bothered by that. You have no idea how hard it was for me to admit you were right." He scowled at John, vibrating a little with impatience. "It's a rare occurrence. Don't expect it to happen again."

John smiled in amusement, taking both Sherlock's hands into his own. "This all ends Tuesday." Sherlock looked away, focusing on a teacup at the table. "I can't simply kill just to spare my own life unless it's in defence. I won't go out hunting random victims just to live."

"I know," Sherlock finally muttered, looking back at John.

"I have to ask you something," John suddenly went on. "Something very hard. You must make sure whatever random cases we work on from now until then, it can't involve Lycans. If I have to shoot someone to keep you safe again, like that cabbie, make sure it's human. In fact, better still, keep out of trouble until then."

"Understood."

John pulled Sherlock into his embrace, ignoring the sudden abrasive stiffness. Sherlock soon softened as John sighed. One week left to live. He began thinking about all the things he wanted to do. He suddenly pushed Sherlock back a bit, staring incredulously at him. "That's why you were interested in that Baskerville case. When Henry mentioned paw prints of a big hound. You thought of Lycans didn't you?"

Sherlock groaned disapprovingly. "I can't believe how stupid I was on that one. Just drugs. No wolves."

"You solved the case though."

"Yeah, whatever," Sherlock was still unhappy with himself for ever bothering with it.

"So now what?" John asked after smacking Sherlock over the head for being such a dork.

"We have to deal with LaCie."

"I can't get involved."

"It's us against him," Sherlock said. "Like it or not, his Pentagram summoned you to that war. He wants the Watson clan active again. Why though, I don't know."

"So why kill me if I'm not awakened?"

"You're useless to him as an unaware wolf somehow so he might as well get rid of you."

"Thanks old friend, really nice," John glared before laughing.

"There are a few very bad Lycan clans out there," Sherlock went on after a moment. "If you decide to join us, you have about a week to track down & get rid of any one of them that we've been trying to get rid of for a few centuries. So really, what are your odds? Good luck."

"You lost me after you said centuries," John blinked. "I thought wolves aren't immortal?"

"You aren't," Sherlock said. "as a non-active one, you last about as long as a human. Awakened? You have about a millennia to live."

"Whoa!" John fell cross-legged to the floor, staring at nothing. "That's a long time."

"You suffer every month of that life though," Sherlock warned. "To be honest, you might actually prefer death this coming Tuesday. It will hurt like hell, but it will end. Full moons never end & after a few decades of them, you'll learn to hate it. Not to mention centuries of them. A thousand years. Unless Harry awakens, you'll bury her at let's say 90 but not much older, her looking like the age…you? Looking like pretty much now."

"Like I said," John reiterated. "I don't want to murder anyone for this either."

"I'll keep you away from Lycans not loyal to Holmes," Sherlock said. "It's the law of the Pentagram. You can either join by awakening or die. You choose death. Even I can't stand in your way."

John lay back on the floor, staring up to the ceiling. Sherlock moved to the kitchen to make tea, giving the war doctor some space. He kept his back to the doctor. He was losing John in a week. Damn the spell. There was nothing he could do except work on John's mind. "Sherlock, what are a Lycan's weaknesses?"

"Changed your mind?" Sherlock said in a relieved breath.

John ignored him for the moment. "I mean, can I touch silver? Does wood kill me? What?"

"Silver is a myth," Sherlock shrugged, turning back to the teapot. "You can die any way a human can."

"Good," John got up. He was soon rummaging about in the drawer where they kept their guns. He pulled Sherlock's out & handed it over to him. "When the time comes, shoot me please?"

"John..."

"Would you rather I suffer this terrible death you just told me about?"

"Well no, of course not."

"Then shoot me, right here," John pressed his right index finger to the spot between the eyes. "Don't hesitate. When it starts, end it. Fast."

Sherlock pushed his hands up into his hair, ruffling the wave into odd shaped curls. Did the war hero not care what he was putting the Consulting Detective through? But no. He was Sherlock. Cold as stone. Can't let on that he cared. Sherlock ended up muttering at least, "I hate Micah de LaCie."

"Then avenge me after."


	10. Chapter 10

**(10) Reckless Mistake**

Sherlock lay on his couch, staring at the ceiling through his Mind Palace. He would sometimes half-come out of it just to send a text out, then return to his thoughts until he was answered. John wondered who he was texting to all the time. Perhaps it was Jacob whom they were expecting soon, whoever that was. Sherlock had failed to answer, instead telling John a horrifying story of Pentagrams, Lycans & death's curse. John closed his eyes. Was he really going to be dead in a week? Maybe that's what Sherlock's texting was all about. A way out of this mess that didn't involve anyone dying.

At the first knock on the door, Sherlock exited his Mind Palace faster than a scared rabbit out of its hole. He stood up, straightened his shirt & called out, "Enter."

A man came in with long waved brown hair down to his shoulders & a trim goatee. He had soft blue eyes & seemed built for power. Muscular yet toned at the same time. He was a head taller than even Sherlock. John's first thought was that he could be a perfect actor for the next film of Christ, landing the role of Christ by looks alone. His second thought was wondering for a split second if this was Christ, considering that the Holmes family knew Him personally, but he couldn't be. This had to be Jacob … right?

"Sherlock, good to see you again," Jacob clasped hands with the vampire & then turned immediately on John. Quicker than lightening, his hand had gone around to the back of John's neck & he hauled the war doctor to his feet. He didn't let go. John's scruff still firmly in his grip, Jacob pressed one finger into John's mouth, feeling his teeth. John actually whined like a pup, trying to pull away. Jacob finally dropped him. John landed on his feet but knelt down to force Jacob to reach for him should he try to grab at him again. He glared up at the intruder. "Teeth like a human. Letting me handle him & now he's on the floor waiting for my next move. Like an Omega. I don't need to guess. He's a Watson, isn't he?"

"Yeah, that's John," Sherlock nodded.

"Hmpf!" Jacob returned the glare, looking down at John by his feet. "And to think the Watsons used to be the Alpha clan. Must be all that human blood he's mixed with now."

John mentally kicked himself. Apparently kneeling down was not a good move. He stood up slowly. "Who are you?"

"Can't you tell?" Jacob folded his arms.

So not like the character of Christ. John gave himself another mental kick. This man came off as puffed up & arrogant. "I assume Jacob since Mycroft told us you'd be here."

"Someone told you, but you couldn't tell on your own?" Jacob raised one brow. "Wow, here I thought a Watson could sink no lower. Sherlock? What is he even doing here?"

"Excuse me?" John began.

"Say nothing," Sherlock put up a hand to silence him. "You stay put. Jacob, it was an accident. Mike Stamford didn't know. How could he?"

"I hate humans," Jacob muttered.

"I know," Sherlock waved a hand to the couch, indicating that Jacob should sit down with him. Once seated, Sherlock went on, "John's been with me a few years. I've been watching him. He isn't like his ancestor at all."

"No, he isn't," Jacob agreed, though referring to something else entirely. "He's more human than wolf."

John finally realised what Jacob was. A Lycan. A full-blooded Lycan. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Grant & Watson!"

"What was that?" Jacob looked up at John.

"Sherlock named two packs that were loyal to the Holmes," John said. "Grant & Watson. You're a Grant then?"

"Yes," Jacob nodded. "Who, by the way, is still loyal." He cast him a darker look than Enola.

"Jacob," Sherlock shushed him.

"Look I uh," John passed a hand through his hair. "I don't like it with everyone mad at me for something that happened before I was even born."

Jacob lit a cigarette & shared it with Sherlock. While it was Sherlock's turn, Jacob stated simply. "Tough!"

"Jacob, be nice."

Jacob took the cig back. "Why?"

"Because I said so," Sherlock pulled the cig back for another puff. Jacob growled low under breath. "Eh, eh eh! Don't you dare growl at me. Bad werewolf manners. Shame on you."

Jacob grumbled, then shut up, putting his head down. John laughed. "Who's the alpha now, sucker?"

"John?"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Shut up."

John huffed & sat down, ignoring the wicked grin spreading across Jacob's face. John bared his teeth. Jacob sat straight again. "Oh, you want to take me on?"

Sherlock grabbed Jacob's scruff & made him lie down across his lap. "Lie down & stay down. John? I said shut up! This is why I prefer cats. Not so hard to contend with. So let's just get this over with."

Jacob rolled so he was lying on his back, Sherlock's hand on his chest. "You don't hate us." He smiled. John rolled his eyes. Jacob really was a sucker. Overgrown pup really! Grr.

"I tolerate canines, end of discussion," Sherlock pulled his hand away & picked up his mobile to send a text.

"What's this?" Jacob snatched Sherlock's mobile from his hand.

"Give it here!" Sherlock jumped to his feet as Jacob fled the room. "Heel! Bad wolf. GET BACK HERE!"

"Ah, texting the woman. Who is the woman?" Jacob fiddled with buttons. John's jaw dropped. Sherlock had been texting someone for a while. Irene Adler?

"Drop it I say!" Sherlock charged after Jacob.

"Ah the youngest Holmes boy in love," Jacob laughed, hopping just out of reach. He then went very serious, annoyed. "Again. How many human lovers are you going to toy with? You never kiss & tell."

"For the Full Moon's sake you stupid wolf!" Sherlock growled so much his fangs clicked into place. John couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. "Watson! Shut your hole or I'll put you in one!" John clapped both hands over his mouth & sat into his chair, still giggling. "I'll deal with you after I get my hands on Jacob. Come HERE!" He finally got a hand on one of Jacob's ears. Jacob squealed in shock at being caught. "Give that to me right now!" He wrenched his own mobile out of Jacob's clutches. Sherlock shut it & shoved it into his pocket. Still grasping Jacob's ear, he shoved hard, throwing the Lycan aside. Jacob landed with a yelp halfway across the room. Sherlock brushed himself off, flicked away some non-existent dandruff or something from his shoulder & sat down as dignified as he could, fangs away. "Now—a-hem! We have a problem."

"Micah's Pentagram," Jacob sat up on the floor.

"Yes," Sherlock started.

Jacob actually barked before saying, "Where do you want me to take … him?" He nodded at the war doctor, ignoring the glare.

"No where," Sherlock answered. "I'm sorry you had to come all this way for nothing, but he doesn't need you."

"Why?"

"His choice Jacob. We can't interfere."

"Why am I not surprised?" Jacob scowled at John. "Watsons of old would have jumped at the chance to protect their precious Holmes family from LaCie or his Lycans. You're too human to care about us any—ARF!" Jacob yelped loudly as Sherlock smacked him over the head.

"It's the law of the Pentagram, Jacob Grant! You know we can't interfere," Sherlock glared at him, eyes turned a dark red. "John's made his choice so he has to stay away from LaCie. We'll join you on Tuesday when it's time." He looked up at John.

John closed his eyes for a moment. "I'll be ready." Would he? Forty-one suddenly seemed so young. He hadn't planned on dying anytime soon.

"What a waste," Jacob bared pointed teeth at John. "We really could have used your help." He looked at Sherlock, trying to hide a whine.

"No."

Jacob's shoulders slouched & he really did whine.

"Don't beg. I said no," Sherlock stayed firm. Another whine. "Jacob, you stole my mobile & harassingly texted Miss Adler. You honestly think you deserve a treat? Get out. Now!"

Jacob put his head down & left without another word, not noticing Sherlock's eyebrow twitch.

"Pups are the worst Lycans!" Sherlock complained to John once they were alone. "He's only two hundred twenty-seven years old. Lycans, well ones that are aware, don't really mature until about four hundred years." He sighed heavily, glancing at the latest text.

It read, "Honey, do you mind explaining this to me?" It showed up under a rather vulgar & graphic picture of bestiality. Three naked men with each their own animal: horse, sheep, goat.

"Two twenty-seven & you call him a pup?" John gasped as Sherlock facepalmed. "What does that make me?"

"A foetus." He sent back another text. "One moment, Woman. I'm having a problem with John." Right after, he realised that would be a mistake. Now Irene would probably think John was screwing around with her. Damn it all! Oh well, Hakuna Matata as they say.

John blinked but Sherlock was already walking away to the kitchen again. "Sherlock, what about Mum? You brought Harry & Clara to the castle, but not her. Shouldn't she know what she is?"

"She does know," Sherlock said. "She's human. You get it from your father who got it from his mother. Both are long dead. We only told Clara since she's Harry's mate. If you want your mother to know, tell her yourself."

"Do you really need me?" John asked after a moment of silence.

Sherlock smiled to himself. Quick. Fleeting. Perhaps having Jacob drop by worked after all. He knew how Jacob would react. In fact, Sherlock had counted on it. The way Jacob treated John. Perhaps somehow, it would help change John's mind. Jacob had unwittingly sealed that deal by mentioning how a Watson was needed...maybe. Hopefully. "Of course I do. You've been my partner for a few years. You're here. Always here. In this flat. It's our flat. I don't relish the idea of having to find a new partner. In fact, I don't think I'll bother."

"That isn't quite what I meant."

With great effort, Sherlock did not slam the teapot on the burner. John, John! Why does that doctor torture him with such questions? Why does he care? "Yes!" Sherlock accidently snarled. "Yes, I know what you mean. It's your choice."

"You can't just point someone out to me & say he's a bad wolf & think I'll shoot him," John said. "I won't do that. I won't murder anyone in cold blood. If it's in defence, like that cabbie, then fine. But don't lead me around for the sport of a hunt & don't set me up. What ever happens, happens."

"I wasn't planning to," Sherlock finally turned to him. "But really John, being with me, it's a wonder you didn't kill a few Lycans by now. You're just lucky perhaps?"

"Perhaps," John wasn't amused. He didn't take the bone of trying to lighten the mood. "I'd rather not kill anyone for myself. Be sure you don't forget that."

"I won't," Sherlock focused on setting out two teacups to hide his disappointment. He knew John would try to stay out of things & would probably succeed. Come Tuesday, he would have to shoot the doctor. Sherlock mentally tortured himself. Why did he ever agree to that? Because he had already planned to do that. Because he didn't like the idea of John being in pain. His hands were tied but not by Irene's chain this time. Now? Now there was nothing he could do but sit by & watch John fret as much as Sherlock will do for the next seven days. He was bound by Micah de LaCie's magic & his own promises to John. He had made a few. Better make a list & carry it with him until next Tuesday. It was going to be a very long week, yet it would be over all too soon.

"I have to go finish up a bit of shopping," John was saying. "I'll be back in half an hour so keep the tea warm."

"It will be," Sherlock said. He heard the door close. Sherlock hadn't turned around to even look at John the past few minutes. He saw John appear on the stairs below & get into a cab. Alone. Finally. Now he could go crazy. Sherlock suddenly whorled around & slammed the table with some part of his body he dimly registered was his left wing. The table went flying across through into the living room. The tattered material of his white shirt & deep green-black vest fell from his chest. Sherlock ripped them away completely, giving his full wingspread complete freedom. He caught a chair between wingtips & hurled that as well. "First my sister & now my only friend. I swear to God, Micah de LaCie. I will see your true death." He snarled through exposed fangs. Right now, all he could see was red. "If it's me you want, then come straight for me!" He landed on his knees, huffing.

Blood seeped from the wing-wounds down each ridge to its point. It dripped off to soak into the carpet. He ignored the numb familiar pain of having his wings spread out. The worst pain was knowing he could very well lose him in a week. He drew in sharp breaths between gritted fangs, trying to slow down to a normal pace. He had to put the place to rights before John came back. He knew why John left. He didn't go shopping. John knew Sherlock was about to have a moment & gave him some space. They both knew Sherlock was about to 'have a moment' but neither knew just how bad it would get until now. Sherlock heard a sound by the door & looked around. "John?"

His still-red eyes bore into Mrs. Hudson's.


	11. Chapter 11

**(11) The Baker Street Secret**

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock sighed. "Sorry, I thought you were John." He rolled on his leg a bit so that he was sitting half-crossed legged on the floor.

Mrs. Hudson stared at him long & hard & took one step back. Her lips set in a thin line, her eyes wide, she put another foot back. Slowly. Inching. Heading back through the door.

"What are you doing up here?" Sherlock suddenly went on. Mrs. Hudson's answer was yet another step backwards, away from him. "Mrs. Hud—" Sherlock's sudden look of horror matched that of the old lady's. He glanced to his left. Left wing spread out, lying on the floor through the living room. He then slowly checked right. Right wing crumpled up against the wall in this small kitchen. Licking his lips, he tore his tongue on his own fangs, but it healed instantly. It was a very rare occurrence, but when Sherlock swore, things could get no worse. "Ah ...fuck…me! What have I done?" Of course! Idiot! She heard the banging. She had come up to check on him. John left & neither had locked the door. Here he lay in misery of losing John & agony of wings spread & bleeding. Mrs. Hudson had at last seen the great Sherlock Holmes in all his glory. His true naked self. She took another step back. "No. No no no! It's ok. Halt!" He put up a hand, casting the charm. She could no longer leave. "Come in. Sit." He kept his eyes fixed into hers.

Mrs. Hudson knew she should flee down the stairs. How could she be so stupid as to let a monster like this rent 221B for all these years? Wait, didn't vampires only exist in fiction? What was something like that doing here? She couldn't move, as much as she wanted to, she could not move. A whisper caressed her mind.

'_Come.'_

The last thing she wanted to do was enter the realm of a vampire but that whisper was so beguiling.

'_Come in.'_

She stepped forward against her will, or was it?

'_Come. Sit. It's ok. Just sit down.'_

She moved forward again, finally standing right in front of the beast. His eyes, now back to an icy blue bore into her soul. Unblinking. He had her enthralled.

'_Sit. Let me explain.'_

Surely this was it. He was going to eat her. She had to run. Now. Before it was too late. She sat down in John's favorite chair.

'_Just stay calm.'_

Of course she was calm. Why should she fear him? She had known Sherlock for a few years. He had helped her more than once. Standing here in front of her, she noticed for the first time his handsome physique. Toned chest muscles. His usually curled hair now swept back in a wave or two. Even his wings were beautiful. An opaque silver-grey color. They nearly matched his eyes. She tried to shake it off. Tried to give her a mental kick. Since when did she look at Sherlock in this way? She was an old lady. Sherlock wasn't her type before this.

Sherlock knelt down before her, wings folded together at one side. "That's better. I've just put you under a bit of charm. It'll wear off eventually, but you'll still remember this," He took her hands into his own & rested his forehead on her lap. "Ah, what have I done? What have I done?" They remained in silent companionship for a few minutes.

"Sherlock, I brought us some biscuits to go with tea," John said entering the flat. He kicked the door closed. "Oh Mrs. Hud—my God! What have you done Sherlock?"

Sherlock lifted his face from her lap. "I didn't turn her. She just walked in on me."

John looked around. He saw the table standing precariously on one corner against the wall. He saw the chair upside-down against another wall. "You didn't think she would hear you tossing the furniture around? What is WRONG with you?"

"If we're to place blame then why didn't you oh I dunno…LOCK THE DAMN DOOR ON YOU WAY OUT?" Sherlock glared at him.

"Why you!" John hissed. "Forget it. Never mind. What's done is done. Now what, genius?"

"Do not insult my intelligence!"

"If you had a shred of that stuff we wouldn't be in this situation you otter-faced bat!"

Sherlock glared. John glared right back. They both turned to look at Mrs. Hudson still perched in John's chair. After a moment, Sherlock muttered. "Otter-faced bat? Really my little hedgehog. You should think up better insults."

"Yeah but I think my Botox one was my all-time low."

"Good point," Sherlock muttered before laughing. "We should stop reading the blogs of our fans."

"Oh damn!" John gasped between fits of laughter. "What the hell are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

"What's wrong with her though? Why isn't she responding to me?"

"Nothing really," Sherlock shrugged. "I just have her under a bit of charm."

"A bit? Sherlock, I wasn't this far out of it when you bewitched me," John stared a moment thinking. He stepped forward. "Just exactly how much power did you put into it?"

"Not much," Sherlock shrugged. "But she'll be lovesick for me for at least a week unless I remove the charm."

"Ha ha ha ha," John laughed sardonically. "You idiot!"

"Will you be quiet? I'm trying to figure this out!"

"What's to figure out?" John shot back. "She saw you like this. Erase the memory!"

"I can't. I'm not Merlin."

"Are you saying you can't erase this memory of you?"

Sherlock sighed. "She'll remember all of this to, just can't do much about it until she's out of the daze I put on her."

"She understands what's going on right now?"

"Mhm."

John double-facepalmed. When he partly pulled his head out of it at last, he noticed the carpet. "Sherlock, your wings. They're bleeding all over the carpet."

"Right. I forgot about them." In an instant, the wings were gone. John barely saw the two large slightly slanted rips from shoulder blade to tail bone seal up without a scar before it was over. Sherlock leaned over hands on knees with a groan. He winced at the searing pain of the cuts & the lingering dull throb afterward. He stood straight after moment.

John took the old lady's hands into his own. "Look, it's ok Mrs. Hudson. He doesn't bite. He gets blood from a blood bank."

Mrs. Hudson looked at John, slightly annoyed at being distracted from her sudden love. "Are you like him to? You've been here a long time. He could have turned you."

"No," John laughed a bit. "No, he can't even if he wanted to. I'm kind of a Lycan but not active."

"A werewolf?"

"Kind of. Ouch! Sherlock! What was that for?"

"You're going to have to move out now, John," Sherlock said. "You know the rule. Sign on the main door. Sorry. No dogs allowed." John rolled his eyes. Sherlock turned to their landlady. "I'm going to release you, Mrs. Hudson. Don't panic. We mean no harm." He whispered something in a language John couldn't understand but knew that it was Ingvaeonic.

Mrs. Hudson gasped & hid her face in her hands. After a moment, she looked up at the pair. "Oh good heavens. Where am I? What? Sherlock. I, I saw you. Wings." She stood up & sidestepped away. "Vampire. You're a vampire?"

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock began, spreading his hands in defence. "Just listen."

"Vampires & werewolves!" She glanced at John, stepping back again.

John dashed around to the door & closed it, trapping her in. "We need have a little talk it seems. Please sit down. Don't worry. We're not going to eat you."

"Mrs. Hudson, you know us better than this. Please, sit down," Sherlock reached out for her hand to pull her back to the chair.

"Alright," Mrs. Hudson gasped weakly.

John & Sherlock sat down on the floor in front of her. John let Sherlock lead, unsure of just how much he wanted to explain. In the end, Sherlock had told her just about everything except Enola's wound & Micah de LaCie. He left out Titanic as well, John mused to himself. John merely repeated that he was Lycan but not active, which he quickly explained. Neither broached the subject of impending death in a week.

The three of them sat in silence for a while. Mrs. Hudson sighed. "For a few moments there, I thought I had the strangest crush on you, Sherlock."

"That was intentional," Sherlock quickly explained charming her to hold her in place. He ignored John's snicker. "It isn't real."

"Do I have to leave?" John asked. "I'll be a good dog if you'll have me—OW! Stop hitting me Sherlock!"

"Such a git," Sherlock muttered as he walked away.

"Oh John," Mrs Hudson laughed in spite of her nervousness. "You are hopeless." She leaned forward & seriously whispered. "Are you sure he's ok?"

"Is anyone sure he's ok?" John teased. "As you say, he's Sherlock Holmes. How can any one know?"

"I can hear you. I'm standing right here."

"Oh? Well go away then. This is a private conversation," John said. "You know. Living people only."

"Oof, stake in my heart," Sherlock moaned, thumping his chest with one fist. "Right here."

John waved him away with one hand. "Go make that tea, lover boy."

"Lover boy?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Have you two …?"

"You wish," John stood up. "Nah, he's just texting Miss Adler. Again."

"Ah I remember her," Mrs. Hudson said. "Pretty girl. Lovely hair. Is she vampire then?"

"No no, completely human," John muttered.

"The doctor is displeased," Sherlock added from the kitchen. "Oh dear, what to do?"

"Sherlock, you're three thousand years old almost," John complained. "Surely you have better tastes then for some criminal whore. Surely?"

"She isn't a whore," Sherlock defended. "She's a very expensive Dominatrix!"

"So she's a very high class whore, gotcha," John still wasn't impressed.

"Christ loved whores," Sherlock shot back. "Remember Magdalene?"

"You're not Christ & Adler sure as hell isn't Magdalene!"

"How would you know?" Sherlock brought back a silver platter with the tea. "I need someone that keeps me constantly guessing. You know my methods! Irene does that. In every way, not just for sex, which by the way is free for me."

"So you get her services 'pro boner' then," John shrugged as Mrs. Hudson nearly doubled over with the shock of his vulgarity. Sherlock's wings were suddenly spread wide & his fangs were bared. He hissed.

"Oh John!" Mrs. Hudson put up one hand. The two high fived. "I hope for her sake that it's a big paycheque!"

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock screeched at her.

John high fived with her again. "No wonder it's free."

"Get out! Both of you! I swear I'll eat you both!"

"Ooo so you like it 69 then, Britney Spears style?" John began humming '3' as Sherlock's glare flamed red.

"That's it! I'm eating you!" Sherlock started forward.

"I'm a Lycan," John shot back through his tears & gasps of breath. "You'll die!"

"So will you."

"You can stay as long as you like," Mrs. Hudson said to John, adding in a lower voice. "Just don't leave fur balls!"

"Swear to God if you both don't shut up!" Sherlock had never been more irate in his life or death. He was literally hopping mad. "Be quiet! Both of you!" He was going from one foot to the other.

Mrs. Hudson stood up, clinging to John for dear life. John gasped. "That was awesome."

Sherlock stood there, shivering with impatience, his wings shaking. His glare was a deep crimson red. The pair just laughed harder. John led Mrs. Hudson out the door & down to her flat to make sure she was handling the new information well. When he returned, Sherlock was still shaking. "Any more from you, mongrel, & you won't live to see Tuesday. Be sure of that!" With that, Sherlock snatched up the empty tea tray, turned on his heel & headed for the sink. His wings sunk into his back a moment later.


	12. Chapter 12

**(12) Lunatic's Fatality**

It took a few days for either of them to be in Sherlock's good graces again. It wasn't until Mrs. Hudson & John were able to go at least one day without smirking at the poor bat whenever the two of them were together. Mrs. Hudson took time to warm up to the fact that she had both a vampire & a wolf in her building. She seemed to handle John more easily than Sherlock since John was merely a carrier & not awakened; unlike the vampire nearly three thousand years old.

With Lestrade gone, it was easy for Sherlock to keep John out of the way. The CSI Baker Boys were only called twice, both times were whenever Donovan & Anderson were not on shift. Both times were too simple for Sherlock but since he promised John, he took up the simple cases despite complaining how boring they were. One was supposed to be a robbery; though the money had actually been misplaced by the idiot boyfriend. The other was to find a boy about seven or eight who was definitely kidnapped…only to locate him in a park, sleeping under some bushes. Sherlock finally stopped complaining after a long hard glare from John.

The distractions were good but not enough & all too soon, John found himself nearer to the end of the week—not to mention his life—then he expected. The full moon would soon be upon him in a matter of hours. He cast a long sad look around the flat. Sherlock was stretched out on the couch lost in the Mind Palace. He looked towards the fridge then the door. "I'm going to get a bit of shopping," John grabbed his coat. "I'll be back in half an hour." That was it, just a few moments to himself. Just to check out London one last time. Afterwards, he planned to stick with Sherlock until—until it happened. In an hour, they would go to the Holmes castle in Mycroft's helicopter. John had asked Sherlock that morning if he had any pictures of those grounds in full summer bloom while digging out some breakfast (which he had yet to eat). He had found his laptop full of pictures in all seasons an hour later. It nearly killed him right then, knowing he'd never actually see it in real life.

But right now? He just needed a moment alone.

The moment the door closed behind him, Sherlock's eyes snapped open, gleaming red. He sat up, glaring at the door. He quickly did up the buttons of a black velvet vest, pulling a bit of ruffle of pale blue, nearly white, shirt to fill the V-line at the throat & huffed. A few moments later, he was up & heading out the door to find John.

John didn't go shopping. Instead, he ended up in the park where they had found the boy & sat down on a bench, lost in thought.

"Hello, Dr. Watson."

John jerked out of his dark mood, startled. Looking around, he saw a man walking up to him. He was wearing dark blue jeans & a brown shirt. He was blue-eyed & blond, almost platinum but not quite. "Excuse me?"

"Didn't mean to startle you," the man sat down on the other end of the bench away from John. He sighed. "I'm just resting a moment on my way home. I get a bit weak around this time."

"I am a doctor," John perked up a little. "What do you need?"

"A cure for Lycanthropy," the man laughed. John gasped as he shrank back a bit. "Full moon's this evening."

"You—You're a...wolf?" John stammered.

"Born & bred," the man said. "Pure, not mixed like you. You're lucky you don't have to deal with it." John scoffed under breath & shook his head. "What? Are you awake?"

"No, but I have a worse curse on me than any moon phase," John said.

The man sat up straight & eyed John for a long moment. "Pentagram?"

"What?"

"Pentagram," he repeated. "Lunatic's Fatality, we call that curse."

"That's, That's rich!" John half laughed. "Yes. I'll be dead tomorrow."

"Oh there's several ways out of it," the man said.

"I know, but I don't want to mur—several?"

"The most obvious is to kill another Lycan," the man said. "But there's another way."

"There is?" John gasped in relief one moment. The next, he was suddenly suspicious. Wouldn't Sherlock know about another way? "Who are you?"

"Jason Garcia," he held out one hand to shake.

John accepted the offer. "Are you loyal to the Holmes family?"

"What? No, never heard of them. We Garcia's don't have family outside our pack."

How can anyone not hear of Holmes? "How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Hundred twenty, I'm still a pup."

"How is it you know my name but not my friend's?"

"Every purebred Lycan pup is told the story," Jason shrugged, putting on a motherly voice. "'Now don't turn against your friends, or you'll end up being slaughtered like a Watson Traitor."

"Oh wow! Gee thanks!" John huffed turning away.

"I meant no offence," Jason added hurriedly. "It's just how we're raised. Anyway, the only name Mum ever mention's is 'Watson' so that's all I know. Every Lycan out there knows about your pack."

John took a moment to look the man up on his mobile. Sure enough, one Jason Garcia showed up, born just over a century ago. Records of death not found. Lost perhaps. Of course, nothing public of anyone being a Lycan would show up. A picture of Jason did appear; though, it was in black & white. The resemblance was close enough but the picture was fuzzy. John stared at the screen a moment longer, debating. He discreetly sent a short text to Sherlock & put the mobile away. Maybe no one had to die after all. "What's this alternate way?"

"Something that can only be done during the first hour of the full moon," Jason said. He sighed & drifted in his seat. He caught himself. "Mmm, I'm not doing to well. Why don't you walk with me? My house isn't that far."

"You look like you could use some help," John stood up & offered an arm for Jason to lean on. Jason wrapped one arm around John's back for support.

Sherlock checked his mobile twenty minutes later & then wished he had checked it right away. He could have saved time searching the grocery stores over for John. He rolled his eyes while letting it load. It took slightly longer than usual. It was a link to a picture of Jason Garcia. One word was written. 'Lycan?' It took all Sherlock's will to not bare his fangs at the picture. He put the mobile away & strode as casually as he could outside. Once he had set a brisk pace, he called Mycroft.

John kicked the door open & stumbled in with Jason clutching onto him. Jason put a hand out to grab onto the doorframe but quickly withdrew with a yelp. He hurried over to the couch & sat down. "Are you alright?" John came to look at the hand but Jason held it close to his chest with his other hand.

"Yeah, it's just a sliver," Jason grumbled. "It's nothing compared to the moon's curse."

"So what's this trick?" John asked.

"One moment," Jason twisted to sit more comfortably. "Let me get this out." After a moment's inspection he added, "Hmm, it's a long one. In pretty deep. Do you mind running down the stairs behind that door & grabbing my med kit please? It has tweezers in there. Then we'll talk."

"No problem," John smiled, laying his jacket over the back of the couch. He headed to a closed door at the opposite end of the room.

"Don't worry if it springs back behind you," Jason went on. "It sticks sometimes so just kick it. That's usually where I lock myself up during full moons. Don't let that one bother you. We've got about three hours still."

"Alright," John said. He opened the door & stepped inside. True enough, the door slammed back into place behind him. He gave it a little kick to make sure it would reopen. It did. John switched the light on to see below.

The stairs were metal. As he went down & stepped into the basement room that spread out under the whole house, he saw strong iron walls criss-crossed with bars on all sides. Every inch was covered in what John first thought was rust. A second glance told him differently. Blood. Old. Dried. Layers of previous full moons marked the prison. He shuddered. Would he have to lock himself up like this every month? Well, better than the alternative. The cold cement floor was bare save for three large cement blocks rising up, each a different height. They were solid & rectangular. John wondered what purpose they served. He put one hand under his jacket, feeling the reassurance of his gun as he stepped off the last stair. Right by the stairs, there was a cage built into the iron walls on his left, behind which stood a blackish-blue box with a red & white plus sign on it. The med kit. He slid the little door sideways to take it out.

Next thing John knew, he was lying flat on his back with a man crushing him into the floor. His head banged the cement & John felt like passing out.

"Who are you?" The stranger pressed one arm across John's throat, threatening to crush his windpipe.

John coughed, ignoring the pain in the back of his head. "Watson. Doctor Watson. Please. I need that med kit. I'm a d—" He was punched broadside across the face & then hauled to his feet.

"No one touches that!"

"I just need the tweezers in it!" John wiped his bleeding lip with the back of his hand, wondering where this man came from. He stood a head or so taller than John. His body rippled with muscles & power. He looked somehow familiar.

"Good thing I was taking a nap behind one of the blocks," the man went on. "Caught the thief red-handed!" He barrelled into John, sending both of them crashing into the next wall. John yelped like an injured dog as something popped in his lower back.

"I'm not a thief!" John shot back as he cracked his spine. He took his own swing to the man's face. His fist was caught & twisted. John was lifted right off his feet & spun like a top in mid-air from the sheer strength. Next moment, he landed on his side by one of the blocks, the lowest one about as high as a bed. "Jason needs it. Jason!" He began calling. "Jason help!"

"Fool," the man said. "This is the den of a werewolf. In the middle of London. It's soundproof down here. What, you think we'd allow modern London to hear the screams of a transforming wolf?"

"Dammit!" John snarled under breath. "Listen, wolf, I'm not going to kill you." He pulled out his gun. "But this will hurt."

"I'm a vampire. Not a wolf!"

John glared. A common bullet wouldn't bother a bat. "Then let me explain."

"Go ahead!" the vampire stepped up, placing his heart at gunpoint. "Shoot me! You'll see. It won't work."

"Vampires can still feel pain," John flicked up a brow. "I know. I live with one. He can be a pain in the arse to." The vampire nodded agreement. John made as if to fire, but then grabbed his gun with both hands & swung hard. He spun the man right around & with a quick kick, swept the man's legs out from under him. "Now stay down. I'll bring the kit right back!" He started for the kit once more. "Jason will hear about this let me tell y—oof!" John's legs were suddenly kicked out from under him & he landed right next to his prison pal. "Ok NOW I'm mad!" The two of them scuffled around on the floor. The vampire grappled for the gun. John grabbed hold of one end & as they struggled, the gun went off.

The squealing bark of pain & death as the man flipped backward & rolled over made John's hair stand on end. John waited what seemed like an eternity as a pool of blood began billowing out around the vampire. Vampire? Why wasn't he healing? Why won't he get up? Deep down, he knew why. John slowly crept forward, pushing against the man's back & then rolling him over. He was dead & not like a vampire either. "Come on. Get up! Get up damn you! Come …mmm Oh kay. Hmm!" John was suddenly overcome with wave after wave of nausea. He blinked but that made his vision change from seeing two to seeing three. His head throbbed from hitting the floor & from a sudden migraine. "Oh … God!" He put both hands on each side of his head, half-wishing he could chop it off his neck it hurt so bad. "God no! Wolf…not no…vam…what have I …?" He lay flat on his stomach, not caring that the blood of the dead wolf was soaking through his clothes. Not a vampire. He had only said that to trick John into shooting him. They were both wolves. What did it matter? It was too late now. He only cared about putting his forehead to the coldest spot he could find, if only to stop the pounding.

He didn't know how long he lay there, back to back with his own kind. The near blinding pain in his head had subdued somewhat but he still felt dizzy. His vision blurry. John forced himself to sit up, wiping blood off his face. He never felt more tired in his life as he began crawling to the stairs. He all but crashed into the bottom step, resting his forehead on the cold metal for some much-needed headache relief. His body started shaking from shock. John sniffled, feeling tears splash onto his hand griping the step. He twisted fast to sit on his hip while shouting at the dead wolf through a sob. "I never wanted to kill you! Don't you understand? I never wanted to kill to save myself. Never! Why did you fight me? Why—wh—" He suddenly stopped crying & shaking as realisation took hold. "No. No no no! Jason! JASON!"

"No need to shout," Jason came down the stairs. John noticed that he was topless.

"There was a wolf here," John's voice broke. He gasped, trying to hold it off. "I killed him. It was an accident. An accident!"

"Shush," Jason knelt before him. "What's done is done."

"I didn't want it like this," John went on. "Oh God! Jason, what have I done?"

Jason laughed, standing up. "Jason is dead, Dear Watson. Right over there."

"What? Who are …" John had a sudden inkling of who he was looking at. "Micah? You did this. You set me up!"

"He was my best Lycan," Micah said. "Gave his life to finish my little spell cast on you since you were too stubborn to do it yourself. Oh, yes. Good guess. I am Micah." In an instant, deep shimmering green-black wings flipped out & poised behind yet above Micah's golden crowned head.

"N-no," John scooted back. "Not you." He tried to imagine Micah & Jason in black & white. They had similar build but Jason had been taller; his hair black. John promised himself never to trust black & white fuzzy pictures again.

Micah ignored him as he shoved past. "Oh my precious wolf." He cradled Jason's head in his hands & wingtips. "I will miss you so. Die well."

"If you will miss him so much, why make me kill him?" John spat, wiping more blood dripping from his cut lip.

"Like I told you," Micah stood up. "You were one stubborn git! Jason offered himself. I actually objected but he insisted." Micah advanced on John who by now had backed himself into a corner. He knelt down in front of the war doctor. "So, how does it feel?" Micah's wings stretched around to hold John by his shoulders. "The betrayer being betrayed."

"You betrayed everything just now," John defended. "Not me."

Micah laughed at him as he stood up, then suddenly went livid. "If it weren't for your damned pack, Enola Holmes would have been my wife!"

"That isn't true!" John declared. "Enola's lover was a Watson back then, not you!"

"Yeah I found that one out the hard way!" Micah grabbed John's collar & hauled him to his feet. He tossed him half way across the room & shot up the stairs. "Think about that, traitor, as you enjoy your first full moon. Time's almost up!" He nearly closed the door before adding, "Imagine that. A Watson wolf. Here! In my basement. _Adios!" _The door slammed into place. John tried to get up & run after Micah before the lock clicked, but slipped on Jason's blood under his feet. John went crashing, knocking himself out on the corner of the lowest cement block. When he came to, it was into a hell of pain he had never known before, in the middle of a lunar change.


	13. Chapter 13

**(13) Secrets Of Service**

Mycroft sat at the table in 221B, head in both hands. "Sherly, if we don't find him in forty-five minutes, a lot of people in London might die tonight."

"If he doesn't kill himself first," Sherlock said. "I don't think Micah would stay with him or let one of his Lycans around. John will be alone. A lone Lycan is a danger to themselves above all else."

Mycroft suddenly looked up, glaring. "Where were you when this was happening?"

"I was—"

"You were supposed to be watching him!" Mycroft shot to his feet. "How could you let him wander off? Tonight of all nights!"

"I was watching him," Sherlock defended. "He said he was going for a few groceries & would be back in half an hour."

"You believed him?"

"No," Sherlock tried again. "I got up to follow him but I couldn't find him at any store. That's where I lost him."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft sighed. "You can be so stupid at times. He was obviously fishing for some time alone."

"Don't call me stupid!"

"Then where's the Watson Were, eh? Yeah thought so! What a mess!" Mycroft put hands on hips & looked away, trying to collect himself. "We've been out there all evening. Time's running short. Can't use Jacob or any of our Lycans since they're changing soon. Sherry's with them. I am appalled at just how royally you fucked everything up, William!"

"John was adamant about not killing to spare his own self," Sherlock tried again. "I didn't think he'd run away. LaCie, I'm not surprised. But if John had just gone to the store & back, I'd have ended up with him."

"Of course he'd run off," Mycroft shot back. "His execution was in a few hours. Survival instincts kicked in."

"Well I don't know about survival instincts since a certain brother of mine killed me before I had a chance to say or do anything!"

Mycroft stared at him. Sherlock glared right back, literally seeing red. "My God! You still hate me?"

"We all do," Sherlock hissed. "We're just being civil."

"Well I'm sorry!" Mycroft was now seeing red himself. "Next time someone wants to crucify you, don't bother seeking my help!"

"Crucify?"

Mycroft closed his eyes until he subdued the beast within. When he could see clearly, he turned back to Sherlock. "That's what the villagers would have done to us. All of us. Even Enola. They were after our whole family & we weren't even turned then! William, you witnessed Christ's execution. I did too! You know the torture of it. Unlike Him, we wouldn't have come back after three days. So what would you prefer? I for one, am glad I spared you that fate, especially after seeing it done firsthand like that a few years later. I had no regrets of our past." Mycroft sat down shaking his head. He laughed, derided, "The villagers were crazy."

"They were scared & with good reason," Sherlock sat down in John's chair. "There were vampires about, just not us." After a moment, he added, "I … I didn't know about that. Their plans for us, I mean."

"I never wanted to tell you," Mycroft said. "After burning our parents, attacks continued. So they figured fire didn't work & turned to other means to get rid of us."

"If it weren't for Micah de LaCie…" Sherlock sighed.

"Aye," Mycroft agreed tiredly. "He set us up. He's always trying to set us up."

"I never understood why people believed him, the actual vampire back then, so easily over us," Sherlock muttered. "Ah, there's always something afoot." Mycroft leaned back in his chair, saying nothing. Sherlock scanned him over. "You know something. What is it?"

Mycroft evaded. "I know a lot of things."

"Adrian Mycroft Scott Holmes," Sherlock spread both hands out on the table & leaned in towards his brother.

"Please not the full name," Mycroft whined.

Sherlock took several steps back & crossed his arms. "My God, you are supposed to be a brother to us. What the hell did you do to him?"

"It wasn't me," Mycroft defended.

"Then what?"

"Sherlock! Don't. Please just stop asking."

"No! I want to know why my sister is under constant threat & I want to know why John is a target & I want answers now. Right now!"

"It has nothing to do with that!"

"Then what is it?" Sherlock spread one wing out & pressed a point to Mycroft's heart. Blood leaked down from the open wound in his back, flowing across the edge & soaking into Mycroft's shirt.

"Damn you!" Mycroft cursed under breath. "You want to know why they believed Micah so easily?"

"Yes."

"It's because of your difference! Micah used that against you."

"My … difference? You blame all this on me?"

"No. It is not your fault but it's just the way things are."

"What difference?"

Mycroft took a long time in answering. He felt Sherlock's sharp point digging in deeper. "Asperger's."

After a hesitation, the wing point withdrew slightly. "Explain?"

"Look back then, no one knew much about medical conditions," Mycroft dared to go on. "Then it was believed people were either cursed with demons or blessed by angels; not realising that sometimes people are simply born differently. Sherlock for God's sake, it was over two millennia ago. What did you expect?" he sighed heavily. "Are you happy now? I never wanted to tell you. All I've ever tried to do was protect you. All of you! Yet you threaten to turn me to ash, for what? A broken heart. Oh right. I forgot. You don't have one."

Sherlock chewed his lower lip for a moment. "Micah went around saying I was demon possessed."

"Yes."

"So if one is demon-possessed, what's being a vampire? It would be the next step. Easy story."

"Yes."

Sherlock looked away. "All this … because I'm an Aspie?"

"Sherlo—"

"I watched Mummy & Daddy burn before my eyes!" Sherlock interrupted. "I will never forget the sight. The smell of burning flesh. Their screams of innocence."

"I was there too! We all were!" Mycroft actually stamped his foot. "Damn it! Sherry & I rode home the moment we got news but they were already afire for a while. Still alive. You think I have forgotten?"

"I didn't sa—" Sherlock began but Mycroft didn't hear.

"Between that & Titanic, it's a wonder I don't just spear myself onto your wing & end it all!" Mycroft steepled both hands over his face a moment. "Go right ahead & drive that wing in. Cut the pain out you ungrateful sod!"

"I can't help being the way I am!" Sherlock pounded one fist on the table.

"I know," Mycroft could only whisper.

"Whether I'm Aspie or vampire, none of this was ever my choice."

"I know! Sherlock! This is why I didn't want to tell you," Mycroft stood up & held Sherlock both with arms & wings wrapped around. "Why do you constantly ask questions? Hmm? You didn't need to know this." He pulled Sherlock down to the floor with him & leaned his back against one wall. Sherlock was pushed into the folding curves of Mycroft's wings so that he was lying on—or rather—in them, head resting on Mycroft's shoulder.

"I know I'm different, Adri. I'm not stupid!"

"Shush."

"Even a few millennia ago, I knew I wasn't quite like others," Sherlock went on. He lifted his head to look Mycroft in the eyes. "Did you ever believe it was demonic?"

Mycroft blinked away a few tears. With one hand, he pressed Sherlock's head back into position. "No. None of us ever did. Micah is cruel. Plain & simple. Besides, we know now what you are & it's just fine."

They lay in silence for several long minutes. Sherlock finally broke it. "Mycroft, where is John?"

"Enola should be here any second," Mycroft sat up straighter. "We've checked everywhere & just got back a few minutes ago. She should be done her section soon."

Sherlock lifted his head & glanced around over Mycroft's wings, like a cub peering over the ridge if its mother's back. "We should clean up then before she gets here. Between the two of us, the floor is rather … slick. We need new shirts to."

Mycroft actually laughed. "I guess you're right." He leaned forward & within an instant, Sherlock's shield of wing membrane & hard ridges disappeared. Mycroft yelped. "I will never get used to that!" He stood up, cracking his back as Sherlock put his own wings away, complaining an agreement.

They worked on the floor first, tossing a bottle of Unvirgin A between them to refresh themselves from the blood loss. Sherlock found a plain white shirt for Mycroft to use while he merely put on his favorite, a bed sheet.

Mycroft glared at him. "Sherlock get dressed before Enola sees you. She hates it when you do that!" Sherlock merely sent him the darkest 'sod off' look he could do. "Enola won't like this one bit!"

Hardly had Mycroft finished his words when Enola entered. She closed the door behind her & took a few more paces in, looking at each of her brothers in turn. She rolled her eyes at Sherlock before shaking her head. "No."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "Then we're too late, for behold the rising moon." He turned to the kitchen window & gazed into the darkening twilight.

"There is one thing we can do," Enola suddenly went on. "Station ourselves around London. Keep watch."

"Any attacks, we'll know where he is," Mycroft picked up on it. Sherlock was already halfway down the stairs. "Sherlock get dressed!" Mycroft tossed pants & a jacket at least down after him. "Yet you wonder why people thought you were demon possessed? Running outside naked like that!"

"I'm wearing a bed sheet!" He slammed the door to the outside world behind him.

Enola glared at the door then Mycroft. "You told him about Micah's demonic story?"

"Nothing dense about you," Mycroft derided.

"I'll deal with him myself! Useless brother. Brothers really," Enola huffed, charging after Sherlock. "WILLIAM GET BACK HERE!"

Once Enola managed to force at least the trousers on (this only through some threat & actual pain on Sherlock's 'personal effects'), the three of them spread out to different parts of London. The plan was to drift about each within their own sections. London was a large city, but by air, flitting about from rooftop to rooftop, it could be covered. They watched for anything remotely Lycan. Just one attack would draw enough attention.

London however, remained the same. A drunken brawl here. A car chase there. No mad dog terrorizing the city. By late morning the next day, the three of them had returned to 221B tired & out of sorts. When realization set in that John never even returned after his ordeal, the three of them dared not voice the one thought on everyone's mind.

They were no longer looking for John, just only a body.

Enola & Mycroft kept as much distance from Sherlock as was possible in the little flat. It was his fault John died alone, or worse, under Micah's 'care'.

Mycroft busied himself with his mobile. It rang in his hand. "Hi Sherry. No. We didn't find him."

"I tried locating John's mobile by tracing his last call," Sherlock said to Enola to break the awkward silence. "But there's nothing. It's like he turned it off which wouldn't make sense. He was expecting me to call him back about the picture he sent me."

"Whatever," Enola folded her arms. "Either way, you lost him. I thought he wanted you to shoot him. Make it quick. Instead, he had to take the long way out."

"You think I don't know that?" Sherlock finally snapped at her. "Besides, I thought you didn't care about the Watson pack?"

"I don't," Enola admitted. "But I see no reason to allow for endless suffering either. I've told you before, kill him & be done with it."

Sherlock turned away, muttering under breath, "They call ME heartless?"

"I heard that," Enola returned smoothly.

Sherlock ignored her. He answered his own mobile. It was Donovan, wondering where John was. "John's dead. Have a nice life." He shut it off without another word.

"What was that about being heartless?" Enola shot back. "Talk about easing someone into bad news. Real gentle touch there, Sherly-kins."

Sherlock whirled around to snarl, "Donovan wouldn't care. She hated him anyway & swear to God, Violet you call me Sherly-kins again, I'll crucify you!" He turned away, huffing. Enola burst out laughing; missing the dark look Mycroft shot at Sherlock's back. Sherlock ignored them, absorbing himself in looking something up on his mobile. A moment later, he was putting on his coat & went out the door without a word or even a backwards glance. Mycroft & Enola shared a look & followed.

Sherlock led them down the road & around a corner. He cut through an alley & J-walked across another street. Enola & Mycroft kept their distance from him. They went through a park & towards a house down the street on the other side. It had been cordoned off with yellow caution tape. Three police cruisers were parked nearby, lights whirling but silent. An ambulance was backed up as close to the door as possible.

Ignoring the tape, Sherlock ducked under & went inside. "What happened here?" He demanded.

"Holmes!" Anderson gasped. "Please no. Don't go downstairs."

The usual look of loathing for the Consulting Detective was gone. In its place was shock & horror. Sherlock took one look at him & then the doorway downstairs. Looking sideways, he saw John's jacket. On the floor was a crushed mobile. No wonder he couldn't reach him. "Excuse me." Sherlock made to shove past.

"No! Holmes please!" Anderson tried to hold him off. "You don't want to see him right now."

"Get out of my way, or I will kill you."

"…Wh-Wha…?" Anderson stumbled back against the wall. Sherlock's eyes were red. Anderson understood with that one look that he would die. Sherlock had meant it. "Just be prepared."

Keeping his devil's glare on him, Sherlock gave a single nod before saying, "Mycroft, you know what to do." At that, he went downstairs.

Mycroft stepped up to Anderson, flipping open his wallet. He showed his British Service card. "This case is now under my care. I want you & your people behind that yellow tape now."

"You can't do that."

Mycroft pulled out his gun & aimed for Anderson's heart with one hand, still holding up his wallet showing the card with the other. "This case is now under my care. I want you & your people behind that yellow tape now. This is your final warning." His voice was dangerously low.

Red eyes. Again. After a moment of chewing his lip, Anderson turned on his walkman. "Move back behind the lines. All units move back!" He put it away & stepped backwards towards the door. "You don't know what happened to him. You didn't see hi—"

"I KNOW MORE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO WATSON THEN YOU'LL EVER KNOW!" Mycroft shouted at him, cocking his gun. "Move back or die!"

"You're both freaks!" Anderson shot back as he stepped outside.

Mycroft put his gun away & muttered under breath. "You have NO idea!"

"Alright on three!" Two medics down below were just about to lift John onto a stretcher as Sherlock came down. Sherlock watched as John was laid out & strapped to the gurney.

"Must have been one hell of a fight," One medic said. "One man dead & this one critical."

"What I can't understand is why this one is naked but the dead victim isn't."

"Do you really want an answer to that?" The first medic hissed. "This was obviously a rape. The Doctor killed in self-defence. Now lift!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. They were way off. Oh yes! John was raped alright. By the moon. Micah had evidently set the two wolves up, forcing John to kill & then left the wolf pup to his own devices. The worst thing to happen to a Lycan on full moon was being left alone. Without distraction, either someone to kill or someone to play with them, they would turn on themselves. A quick glance around the room told Sherlock that more of John's blood lay splattered across the floor & walls than coursed through his veins at the moment.

"These look more like dog bites," the second medic remarked as they started up the stairs, Sherlock following after.

"Whatever happened, he was definitely shredded," his partner said. "Mr. Holmes, you will be handling this case, I presume?"

"I know exactly what happened."

"Of course you do." They carried John through the house & outside towards the ambulance.

Sally came running up to Anderson's side. "Holmes told me, Watson's de—my God! Is that him?"

"I doubt he'll live to see the evening," Anderson said. "I was going to call you but you called me instead. How's your nose?"

"It hurts," Sally pressed a fingertip to one edge of the white bandage across the bridge of her nose. "But I didn't want this for him either. Just show up in court so I could tell him off."

"Well, you'll have no need for a court," Anderson said. "He was finished before we got here. It's a wonder he's still alive."

Mycroft waited until John was secured inside the ambulance. He held out his card again, standing by the driver's door. "I am taking over. The Service has special doctors to take care of Watson."

"With all due respect Sir," The driving medic said. "He needs to get to a hospital."

"Exactly!" Mycroft agreed. "The best one out there. Enola. William. Get in the back."

The medics could only stand by & watch as Mycroft drove away with their patient. Once on the main drive, the lights & siren came to life & the van tripled its speed. Anderson looked at Sally. "They've killed him doing that. What is the big secret?"

"I don't know," Sally turned for her car. "Let's go."

Enola moved to the passenger side while Sherlock sat down next to John as he said, "I've called Jacob. He'll meet us at the lift off point. He can give John some blood." Why was his voice so shaky?

"He'll be ok Will," Mycroft said. "He'll be fine. Wolves have healing powers like we do."

"He isn't healing fast enough!" Sherlock snapped. "We need Jacob now."

"I'm driving a fast as I can," Mycroft said.

Sherlock sighed & tentatively took John's hand in his own. He rested his forehead on the gurney next to John's shoulder. "Damn you Micah." It was a soft whisper so no one else heard. He did not expect a reply.

"…En…En…"

Sherlock looked up, suddenly looking like a curious child finding a massive clue on a case. "John? You're awake. Do not sleep. You'll die."

"…En…"

"En … En….End of curse?" Sherlock tried to finish it. "Kind of. You're free of the Pentagram but you're stuck with the moon. Next one won't be so bad, let me assure you."

"Mm mm, … En…"

"Talk later," Sherlock covered John's mouth with one hand. "Let's wait for Jacob."

The ambulance came to a stop next to a field. A large black helicopter was parked near the fence, door open. Enola & Sherlock got out & carried John to it. A black man, the pilot, helped lift him in.

"It's about time! Abe's been going crazy," Jacob was already lying with a needle in his arm. "Hook us up."

"I nearly cut my wings waiting for you," Abraham huffed in a thick Jamaican accent, his white teeth stark & striking against his deep black skin.

"We were lucky to find John at all," Sherlock got in beside the two wolves. "Any word on Micah de LaCie?"

"No," Abraham looked John over. "A second later I doubt we could have done a thing for him."

"It might still be too late," Enola said, stepping back.

"Don't worry ma'am," Abraham touched the rim of his deep brown hat. "We'll get him to the Deadmoon Downs right away."

"I'll see you there," Enola said to Sherlock before running back up to Mycroft. They drove away to return the ambulance.

"Lift off!" Abraham closed the doors & headed for the sky.

Enola watched until the machine was a mere dot in the sky.


	14. Chapter 14

**(14) Life So Changed**

John sighed, the scent of fresh sheets permeating his half-dream state. He could hear water coming down. Rain. A hard shower at that. John shifted a little in an attempt to find a more comfy position. Pain shot through him as if he were on fire, making him cry out.

"Hamish? Are you awake?" Harry stroked on finger along his cheek. John opened one eye. "How are you feeling?"

John groaned, letting his other eye open. "Like I was hit with the Enterprise at full warp."

"Which one?" Harry smiled. "There's nine altogether if you count the ISS & the alternate one by JJ Abrams."

"All of them," John whispered. "At the same time." They both laughed lightly before he asked, "Where am I?"

"Deadmoon Downs," Harry answered. "It's a hospital run by vampires & werewolves. They've some of the best doctors here for...for, well our kind."

John grunted. Our kind, indeed. "What happened? It was such torture. What the hell happened to me?"

Harry sat up on the bed. "You killed a Lycan on the rise of the full moon."

"No," John whimpered, turning his face away. "No this can't be happening. Sherlock was supposed to shoot me."

"He couldn't find you," Harry scolded. "Your mobile was crushed & it's kind of your fault. You lied about where you were supposed to be."

"Harriet!"

"Well you did," Harry defended. "Now you're an active Lycan."

"No!" John exclaimed defiantly. "No I will NEVER go through that kind of pain again. I'll get Sherlock to shoot me before that happens."

"Sherlock said th—"

"I'M NOT GOING THROUGH IT AGAIN, HARRIET!"

"Will you shut up?" Harry complained. "Sherlock said that full moon transformations should never be that bad. It was because you were left alone. Next full moon will be different."

"You bet it will. I'll be dead."

"Hamish ..."

"Just leave me alone!"

"Ham—"

"I said go away!"

Harry closed her eyes & heaved a sigh. "Fine. Clara & I need some lunch anyway." She got up & left. She found Clara sitting with Sherlock in the lobby on the ground floor of the three-story hospital. "He's awake."

"I'll go see him," Sherlock got up.

"I don't think he wants to see anyone right now," Harry said. "He kicked me out."

"Well he has no choice in the matter," Sherlock replied stubbornly. "He's an active Lycan now & there are things he needs to know. Excuse me."

Harry shook her head after Sherlock disappeared. "He's going to get kicked out."

"He can handle it," Clara said.

"NOT THERE YOU IMBECILLE!" Abraham came marching by, shouting at a (seemingly) young man across the room holding up a painting, about to hang it on the wall. "It would clash with the colors in this room! Merlin's curse, you have no sense!" He kept shouting at the poor man who fled the scene, Abe hot on his heels.

"Is that guy ever happy?" Clara stared a moment before turning to her mate.

"He's always happy," Harry shrugged.

"What do you think you're doing, parking that thing there?" Abe's thick Jamaican accent boomed back through the open door. "No no no no no no no no no no! You take that chopper to the back & put it on a pad where it belongs or I'll take it & shove it up your fat arse! You got a problem with that? Yes? THEN MOVE IT NOW!"

"When he as something to complain about," Harry rolled her eyes before both burst out laughing. The window panes shuddered as the chopper took off. When Abraham gave an order, it was follow or die & not as a vampire either!

Sherlock glanced out a window near the end of the hall as a helicopter thundered past, then opened the door to John's room & went in. "Well my dear fellow," Sherlock began.

"Leave me be," John looked away.

"Why?" Coming from Sherlock, it was actually an honest innocent question but it put John into a rage anyway.

"Because you were supposed to shoot me before the full moon but you didn't."

"You ran away. Not my fault."

"I didn't run away, I was on my way home really," John said. "I stopped in the park for what I had planned was a few minutes. Then Jason, or Micah rather, showed up."

"I know," Sherlock said. "The police found you late the next morning."

"The police?"

"Anderson & Donovan," Sherlock said. "Don't worry, Mycroft took over, claiming Secret Service rights. We were looking for you all night."

"I killed a Lycan, Sherlock," John muttered almost under breath. "I didn't want that."

"What's done is done," Sherlock glanced to the window, watching the rain pour down. He turned back to John. "That Lycan you killed was Jason Garcia. He was over a hundred years old."

John sighed. "Am I to live that long now?"

"With your warped human blood, who's to say?" Sherlock shrugged. "Definitely four or five centuries for sure."

John stared at the ceiling for a few moments. Fortunately, Sherlock remained silent for once. "Sherlock, can you please shoot me before the next full moon?"

"No."

Plain & simple. Not a second—or a first for that matter—thought about it. John inwardly scowled. "I refuse to go through that kind of torture again. I'll kill myself if you're not my friend anymore."

"Full moons aren't that bad," Sherlock began explaining. "I'll watch over you myself next time."

"Don't you get it, Holmes?" John snapped at him. "I don't want to live like this. You can't begin to understand the pain a full moon causes me. Just go away." He turned his face away to glare at the wall.

Sherlock tossed his jacket & shirt aside. He pulled an extra sheet out of the linen closet & opened it almost all the way. He left it doubled & laid it along the side of John's bed. He then lay down next to John, nearly spooning with him but his open wings got in the way. He pressed his wings down along his side, one dragging over the edge to lie on the floor behind him. "You know it cuts every time I let these out or pull them in. But even while they're out, there is a dull throbbing ache that we vampires have no choice but to get used to. I watched helplessly as both my parents burned & witnessed Christ's execution. In the old days before medical advances, some people wondered if I was demon possessed, since Asperger's was unknown back then. I helped deal with Mycroft after Titanic sank from under him, taking his two adopted daughters—my nieces—with her & I watch my sister suffer with an eternal wound & have no clue how to help her."

"Sher—"

"You think I don't know pain? Think again … werewolf! You're the one with no clue, insolent pup!"

John sighed & shifted so he could look at Sherlock without killing his neck. "You know I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry."

"You better be," Sherlock retracted his wings, got up & tossed the bloodied sheet to the floor. "So if you die, it would be very unfair for me. Full moon is nothing compared to what I've suffered through. Oh, but what do I know? I'm just a stupid Aspie who's been dead for a few millennia."

"Sherlock, I don't th—"

"Don't ever say that again!" Sherlock ignored him. John closed his eyes, trying desperately not to cry in front of Sherlock. He wouldn't show weakness. Sherlock lay down again, hovering over him. "Maybe I should kill you. You're just the runt of the litter anyway. Harriet is the firstborn. We don't need you."

"Gods Sherlock! I said I was sorry!" John finally let the tears go. "You don't have to be so mean about it."

"Do I?"

"No," John tried to sooth him. Sherlock's glare was red & John knew he was in a very dangerous position right now. He tried to slow his breathing, his pounding heart. Sherlock still lay over him & John could see points of those long incisors just showing through those lips. One bite. That's all it would take. Venom of a vampire would kill him; so long as Sherlock was careful not to swallow John's blood, he could still bite. Maybe he didn't want to die after all. At least not while Sherlock was hating on him. "You watched your parents...Sherlock I didn't know! I can't imagine what a horror that must have been." Did he say the right thing? Sherlock's red glare was still over his face.

Ice blue suddenly replaced red. A quick childish smile. "Wise words!" Sherlock tumbled off much to John's relief. "It was dreadful enough. I'll never forget it."

John stared at him, amazed at how quickly Sherlock could jump around. Asperger's perhaps? Or simply how long he lived that he no longer cared to spend much time on anything? Or both. He recognised the 'new topic now' mood & quickly thought of something else. "When Jacob asked you for a treat you refused, what would you have given him?"

"Honeycomb," Sherlock got up & fished a flat round tin from his jacket's left pocket. "Every Lycan would roll over dead just for a taste."

"I can buy honeycomb at a store," John pointed out, not seeing why it was such a treat. "Does Jacob not know how to buy things?"

Sherlock lowered his hands, looking somewhat disappointed & confused. "If you buy it yourself, that's your problem. Your money lost on something humans processed. They don't have a clue how really to treat bees. I was thinking of becoming a bee keeper myself when I retire form this Consulting Detective business for a bit."

"Are you saying vampires make better honeycomb than humans do?"

"That's precisely what I'm saying."

"Slight problem," John tried not to smirk. Epic fail. "Bees make honey. Not bats or humans."

Sherlock glared. "It's how we raise & treat the bees that are different, obviously!"

"Oh yes, quite obvious."

"Watson!"

"I'm just bugging you," John finally laughed outright.

"Well at least you're laughing again," Sherlock complained.

"Whatever," John scoffed & then became serious. "Sherlock, I'm not some mindless pet to be trained, so don't bother trying to treat me like what you do with Jacob & whatever Weres you have lying around. I at least will hold on to my humanity."

"Suit yourself," Sherlock came over & opened his tin. He pulled a large chunk of honeycomb out & cupped his hand under John's chin. John's eyes flamed gold & he grabbed at the honeycomb, lapping up ever last bit of the sticky mess from Sherlock's fingers. He lay back on the pillow sucking out the rest from the wax. "See? Instant attraction." Sherlock said triumphantly, putting his tin away. "Active Lycans simply can't resist."

"Unbelievable," John turned away again. He hated himself. He didn't know how, but some basic instinct had swamped his reasoning the moment that honeycomb was within reach. He had to resist. He wasn't some damnable dog!

"Would you like another piece?"

"Oh God yes!" John looked up at Sherlock with eagerness. Sherlock dropped a bigger piece than last right into his mouth. John gave himself a mental kick. This would not happen again.

"See? Can't control it can you?"

"I will."

Another childish smirk. John decided he officially hated it. It used to be cute. "No. You won't." Sherlock headed for the door, turned back & winked at him. John was instantly reminded of the first time he met this weirdo & tried not to roll his eyes. Instinct took over & he bared his teeth in a low snarl. "Hey! No growling! Bad werewolf manners!"

Once Sherlock had left, John lay back on his pillow, pouting. "Dammit!"


	15. Chapter 15

**(15) Awakened**

John finally pulled himself out of bed in the early evening. He was still soar all over but was tired of lying around. He limped over to the window & gazed out onto the open yard spread back with a few trees, gardens about their roots now greying for winter, towards another building. Three helicopters were parked in front of it. Beyond that were hills or perhaps mountain peaks. John felt high up somehow, as if he was gazing down from far away.

"Oh John, you're out of bed!"

John glanced back to see Clara. "Yeah, kind of. Where are we?"

"Deadmoon Downs," Clara said. "It's a hospital on top of Scafell Pike. It's for vampires & Lycans. I feel a little strange being the only human here."

John made for the nearest chair & sat down to rest. "So how are you handling it? Knowing what Harry is. What I am. You still wish to stay with Harry? You two have broken up before."

Clara sighed & sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm not racist or anything. I wouldn't break up with someone just based on what they are. It's how we get along that I'd base my feelings on."

"But we do scare you."

Clara looked up at him & then away, slightly startled. "You do. You're active now. How did you know? Sherlock?"

"I'm not sure, not him though," John said. "Something about your scent."

"Wolves have been known to sense fear," Clara said more to herself than him. She added in a louder voice. "It will take time to get used to. I mean, you can't be as bad as Abe."

"Who's that? Sherlock's friend?"

"Yeah, no. Just…no. He's no body's friend," Clara actually laughed a bit. "He's the owner of this place but does nothing but whine, bitch & complain. He isn't happy unless he has someone to yell at."

"Ah, one of 'those' kinds of people," John scoffed.

"He threatened to shove a whole helicopter up some pilot's arse so," Clare's mouth twitched. "Yeah. Definitely one of 'those' kinds."

"Sounds like good company for Sherlock," John said as they both laughed.

"He's yelled at Sherlock to," Clara went on. "You'll be meeting him in a few minutes. Sherlock went to tell him that you're finally up."

"How long was I out?"

Clara stared at him before answering. "Almost two weeks."

"WHAT?!" John leapt to his feet. "Two weeks?"

"You were in a kind of coma wolves can enter when they need to heal more than usual," Clara explained. "Sherlock said full moons don't do that but since you were alone, you went crazy."

"Two weeks," John began pacing. "Oh no no! I only have two weeks ahead before the next full moon then?"

"Something like that."

"Dear Lord!" John whimpered softly to himself. "I can't do this Clara. It hurts so much. I won't be ready for it in two weeks!"

Clara watched him pace, feeling a little sorry for him. "Sherlock said he'll help you."

John turned around to say something but stopped as he saw a tall black man come into his room, followed by Sherlock. The black man stepped up to John & grabbed his chin to demand eye contact. He looked him up & down. "Well now, it's been more than a few centuries since I've allowed any Watson Weres in here." John worked his jaw, trying to keep quiet. The man let him go & turned to Sherlock. "We have yet to see anything on Micah de LaCie. I've had scouts out for him for a while, since his first sacrifice. Slick one, that old man."

"How do you think he'll hold out for the next moon?" Sherlock asked. "He's still worn out from his first one."

"If he can survive that first one, he'll be fine," Abe said. "So long as you're around. Or Jacob. Someone friendly anyway."

"So in other words, not you," Sherlock lifted a brow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Abe glared. "Here," He handed over a chocolate-brown velvet bag. "Give him that. It should strengthen him up." He turned back to John & finally addressed him. "So I heard you're responsible for the death of Jason Garcia. Good. He killed two of my Lycans & my first mate, a vampire. Not to mention, a few others."

"It was self-defence, not murder."

"Whatever," Abe didn't care. He held up a jar & opened it. Inside were several wedges of honeycomb. He gave one to John who instinctively all but grovelled for it. John mentally cursed himself. He HAD to train himself not to let the beast take over, oh! But the honeycomb was to die for. "Definitely active. I hope you won't be any trouble, unlike the rest of your pack." John glared, mouth too full of wax to say anything. Abraham had pretty much shoved half the jar into his mouth. He'll be sucking for a while on this one.

"When can he be released?" Sherlock asked.

"Probably go home tomorrow," Abraham answered. "Though I suggest no where familiar. Since Micah's after him, I suggest keeping John out of sight. Now," Abraham took one of Clara's hands & pulled her close. "May I take this lovely little lassie down to the parlour while you two talk?"

"Sherlock?" Clara cast a worried glance his way.

"He won't bite," Sherlock hide a small laugh as the pair turned away. "Much. So John—"

John put a hand up to silence him, trying get the wax under control. He finally laid the clump of it aside, licked the last bit of honey from his lips & sat down. "I know. Clara told me. Two weeks before the next full moon."

"Yes," Sherlock opened the bag. "Ah. I'll be making you some tea with these dried herbs. One a day until then. You'll be fine."

"Will I?" John worried.

"So long as LaCie doesn't get his hands on you," Sherlock pointed out the obvious worry. "Mycroft wants you back at the old castle. Jacob & the rest of the Grant pack will be there. You can join them."

John groaned. He seemed to be propelled from one moon to the next with no sense of normal life in between. "Will I pass out again for two weeks?"

"No, you should be up the next day," said Sherlock, pausing at John's grunt of a complaint. "It's ok John. It'll b—"

"No it's not! It is not ok!" John finally lost it, making them both feel like they were back in Baskerville. "I have lost everything that made me human. I'm going to live nine times longer than my sister if not more. My mother won't see me age. She'll know something's different. What part of this will be ok, Sherlock?"

"When you learn to accept yourself, you'll get your answer," Sherlock tossed the velvet bag up & down in his hand a couple times. "I'll get started on this. It'll be bitter. Can't have sugar with it. Just drink it down fast & be done with it." John just stared at him. Sherlock pulled something from his inner jacket pocket. A photograph. He handed it over.

It was a large black dog lying across the hearth of the fireplace in the basement of the castle where John had seen Sherlock again for the first time. Enola was sitting on the floor beside it, petting its head. "Pretty dog." John smiled.

"It's Jacob," Sherlock said. "During a full moon. Lycans don't attack vampires. Our blood & venom don't mix remember."

John looked up from the picture. "Jacob? This is Jacob?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "He's perfectly fine. I wonder what you look like as a wolf? I doubt Mr. LaCie bothered to take pictures."

John gave the picture back. "I don't know. I have very little memory of it other then feeling lost & pain. A lot of pain."

"You were locked up in one of his city suites," Sherlock explained. "You were in a soundproof pen in the basement. It has a few blocks for his wolves to run around & exercise on but a lone wolf would start tearing at itself. John, you nearly killed yourself. The only reason you're still here is that Anderson found you."

"What? Oh God! He knows?"

"No he thinks the other guy raped or tried to rape you."

"What? Wait...you let him believe that?" John glared.

"Better that than the truth right now," Sherlock shrugged. "Besides it isn't my place to tell on you anyway. That's your choice. Mycroft took over the case before Anderson got to deep. We brought you out & Jacob gave some blood to replace what you lost."

"What about Micah?"

"No one has seen or heard about him since last full moon," Sherlock replied. "Which is worrying."

"Well he got his wish. I'm awake now."

"Another worry. We don't know why yet."

"Not even you?"

"I see no reason to awaken a dormant Lycan gene," Sherlock shrugged. "I'm missing something. I'll find it."

John suddenly remembered something. He almost mentioned it but then decided against it. Since Micah was the one who told him, perhaps it wasn't even true. He decided to ask Enola first. "Is Enola here?"

Sherlock looked somewhat surprised at the question. "No, she's gone home to her Gypsy Prince." He put in a real effort to not roll his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"It's a vampire & Lycan hospital," John shrugged it away. "I thought she might try again about that cut on her."

"Deadmoon Downs has that on record," Sherlock said. "They've tried more than once."

"Where exactly is this place anyway? Clara said Scafell Pike but, I don't remember ever seeing this."

"It can only be accessed by air or if you walk here," Sherlock began. "Since it's part of the horseshoe shape surrounding Eskdale, Cumbria, we had it built behind some of the peaks, in a little hollow. It's hard to find if you don't know exactly where it is. Merlin helped set it up."

"Merlin! Wow," John exclaimed. "He isn't here is he?"

"No one's seen Merlin in centuries," answered Sherlock. "He's probably dead. Really dead not vampire like. Come down to the lobby with me. You should have something to eat while I make this tea for you."

John saw his coat hanging on the far wall & went to put it on over his deep blue silk pj's. He didn't remember ever receiving these. "Is there anything I would actually eat here?" He half joked.

"Lycans eat pretty much what humans & vampires do," Sherlock answered, leading the way.

"Will I have to replace water with blood?" John asked.

"No, any wolf needs water. If you crave blood, it will be because you tasted it."

"What happens then?"

"While unlike vampires you don't actually need blood, once you have a taste, you'll crave it more & more. If it gets too far out of control, you will turn vicious. Like what happened to the world's most famous vampire, Dracula," Sherlock shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He ignored John's look of surprise. "But to distract you from human blood in the first place, just eat a little more meat."

John groaned. "I don't like much meat."

"You'll find that you might have changed your mind," Sherlock pushed open two swinging doors that had glass in them. Gold designs of leaves & buds wove themselves up & down on both panels. The lobby was set up much like a family room, with comfy armchairs & sofas spread about & a large fire set in stone with white marble as the mantel was blazing. There were green streaks in the marble. John's eyes went wide for a moment. For an old hospital, it seemed to have a rustic & somewhat homely feel to it. He saw Harry & Clara sitting together on one sofa with Abraham standing nearby. Jacob was reclined in an armchair that opened up to lie back a bit.

There were a few others around John didn't know. Worse, he didn't know vampire from wolf apart from those familiar to him. The way Jacob had acted in 221B, there seemed to be a trick to tell them apart. But Jacob was an idiot in John's mind so he wasn't about to ask. If Watsons used to be an Alpha pack, he was going to try acting like one. He held his head up just slightly higher than usual while marching passed Jacob, who curled his lip back in annoyance but nothing more. Next moment, John quailed as he noticed every eye was suddenly on him. He may not know them, but they knew him, or at least of him. Of course. 'The Watson Were." A Holmes killer. Or in his case, descended of such. John ignored them for the moment, focusing on his sisters by blood & law ahead of him.

Sherlock disappeared for a while. Abraham went off to torture yet another poor sod to his liking (apparently the floors weren't all washed), his angry yelling drifting back to them for a full minute or two, growing fainter as he moved away. Jacob soon passed out in his chair, snoring. John grinned evilly at his sisters, got up & poked at him. Jacob snorted, rolled over but slept on. Harry glared at him.

"What? He's an idiot!" John laughed. "He deserved that. That too!" John poked Jacob dead center of the spine. Jacob arched his back, snuffling in his sleep.

"Hamish, you looking to get bit?" Harry glared.

"I'm already Lycan, so what good would that do?"

"It would still hurt."

John thought about that a moment & left Jacob alone at last. "It was still worth it." He sat down next to her, pouting. Harry smacked him. John whined, rubbing his arm. The glass & gold doors opened again & a woman entered, carrying a tray with three covered dishes on it. John stared. Her eyes were a deep violet & had stars in them. Her hair, pure white platinum like the blonde singer from ABBA, hung over one shoulder, tied in a loose wavy pleat & hung down to her waist. She had a white princess-style dress on, with a white shawl over her shoulders, held in place by a dark amethyst that matched her eyes. He barely felt Harry's second smack as the girl came up to them & handed out there supper.

"Hi," John managed to say.

The girl looked at him. "Mr. Watson."

John inwardly flinched. Of course. The Watson demon standing in the background again. He had no chance with anyone remotely related to vampires or wolves. "John's fine. Or Hamish. But usually my sister calls me that to annoy me so, yeah just John." He shut up at the glare from both Harry & the girl.

"Well 'Just John', I hope you enjoy your supper," the girl handed over his plate & took away the top. Seafood salad with spaghetti alfredo. Fresh minced basil & Feta cheese on top. "Ohhh hell yeah!" John suddenly realised how hungry he was. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," the girl handed each of them a glass & a bottle. "Don't worry. It's champagne."

"I was just going to ask," John said after a mouthful of salad. "Just in case Sherlock tried to experiment on me."

"You think he would?" The girl asked.

"Wouldn't be the first time," John scowled. "Once he locked me in a lab at Baskerville & made me think a blood-thirsty rabid hound was out to get me."

"I heard," she actually laughed.

"I got him back really good though," John smiled. "We have a friend who works in the morgue. Molly. I got something off her & stuck in the fridge. You should have seen Sherlock's face when he opened the door to find a frozen hard-on in there. He was so confused."

"He complained about that to us for a week," the girl said. "Especially once he found out that the penis had been removed from a case he was actually working on. He was really mad."

"I know right?" John laughed. "I even put a small camera in there. So his reaction's on Youtube."

"He said that 'the Woman' asked him about it so he didn't speak to her for a week," the girl laughed with him.

"Uhh guys?" Harry said. "Sherlock's here." John & the girl shut up instantly. Sherlock had just come through the glass & gold doors, but went to talk with someone else first, so it gave them time to recover.

"Thanks for this," John motioned to the supper.

"It's alright," the girl said. She glanced around & then looked back at him. "Sorry. I didn't plan on staying & interrupting your meal."

"That's fine," John said. "Any chance to pick on Sherlock is welcome."

The girl looked him in the eye. "Are you really his friend?"

"Sometimes," John shrugged. "Other times I'm his victim of experiments. It's a wonder I'm not glowing yet."

"He must really trust you," the girl went on. She glanced at Harry. "He lets both of you loose. I never expected to speak to a Watson Were before. Awakened or not."

"I never expected to be a Lycan either," John said. "Neither do I like everyone expecting me to plunge a knife into his back, or any other Holmes. I'm not my ancestor. Neither is Harry."

"Be sure it stays that way," The girl became serious. "Or else, your pack won't survive this time. The Holmes will have help disposing of your whole pack. No escape." She turned & marched away, nearly colliding with Sherlock.

"Vivianna," Sherlock caught her before she fell over. "Sorry."

She leaned in close & nodded in Harry & John's direction. "You sure about them?" Sherlock glanced at the three of them sitting on the couch. He nodded. "I hope you're right about this, William." He released her arm & she walked away.

John's brow shot into his hairline. He knew Sherlock's first name but had never heard anyone outside of family use it. Sherlock was the desired title, stating more than once how he hated William. Or was it actually true? Perhaps only the privileged few were allowed to call him William. Everyone else—Mycroft—using it to annoy him. John suddenly felt left out. Not even he? Or should he dare even try calling him William? John suddenly realised with a pang of sadness that he wasn't just the only & best friend of Sherlock Holmes after all. While he knew Sherlock had a few other friends, Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Irene, he always felt the special one. But not now. He suddenly felt foolish. Why would he be? That man was over two thousand years old. Anyone new in his life was 'just another friend or lover' to him. Besides, after walking with Christ Himself, everyone else had to be second rate. Not that John minded that part. He wanted no competition from God Himself but at least on this Earth he thought he was the best friend. But now, well, reality checks were always hard to deal with.

Sherlock stood before John, holding out a mug. "You should scarf it down right now. It's only lukewarm. You'll want to wash the taste out with that nice supper of yours." He picked up a Tiger prawn from the salad & a large clump of Feta cheese from the spaghetti.

"Hey! Get your own!" John complained.

"I just want a taste," Sherlock smirked at him.

"So who's that girl?" John grumbled. "She's really pretty."

Sherlock gave him 'the look'. "Uh uh. Don't even go there."

"What?"

"You know what."

"Sherlock I never know when you do the look."

"What look?"

"THE GIRL William Sherlock Scott Holmes! The girl."

"She's over two hundred years old. She's a bitch & Abe's lover. So no, don't go there."

"Two hundred? Looks good for her—did you just call a woman a bitch?" John stared at him. "I never heard you talk like that."

"Like what?" Sherlock asked. "She is a bitch. All female canines are. That is the correct term is it not?"

Sherlock blinked. John blinked. An awkward pause. "Oh!" John finally understood. "Right. Of course."

"You did hear me say she's Abe's lover right?" Sherlock repeated. "She's the only one he's ever nice to."

"What a waste," John muttered, picking at his food.

Sherlock merely scoffed, then looked at Harry. "We'll stay the night. Mycroft will fly us out first thing in the morning."

"Good," Harry stretched. "I'm ready to go home."


	16. Chapter 16

**(16) Dreamcatcher**

John hit the ground running. He had jumped out of something or other but didn't stop to look back at it. He was being chased by someone trying to kill him. He had to get out of here. John plunged on ahead & around a corner. A stream wound its way along the ground, passing between a few large boulders. He came out into a grassy glade that the stream went around & emptied into a large lochan. Here, he paused for breath. He looked back, unbelieving of what had happened. Ash floated down to him on the wind. Still looking back, John began moving again. He tripped over something & fell down hard.

John rubbed his soar foot & then glared at the stump of metal sticking up from the ground. He quickly dug around it, thinking to dislodge the offensive obtrusion so no one else will ever trip on it again. At the same time, he wondered why he was wasting time on the offensive thing instead of running away & hiding as per his original plan. It was a metal rod jammed into the ground, links of chain & a bit of a shackle left over came out. John stared at it a moment & then put a hand on them to pull it all out of the impression he had made in the ground.

Heat. Screams of pain. Screams sent out to someone standing in front of them. Scent of roasting flesh. Utter terror.

John dropped it & scooted back. He quickly glanced around what once looked like a pleasant grassy knoll. Now he understood its horror. Someone was executed here by burning. He got up & trotted to the stream to rinse his hands & have a drink. Something glinted in the water. Shiny & golden.

Next moment, John was sitting up in bed. He shook his hands as if he had touched something hot. It felt like he had, but when he checked there was nothing there. "I really need to get home. What a crazy dream." He knew without a doubt, now that he was awake, who the burning person was. Two really. Thanks to stories from Sherlock. Siger Holmes & Violet Sherrinford had invaded his dreams now. Great. Just great! This was not his horror to contend with so why was it suddenly invading his dreams? He began rubbing his face with both hands but recoiled with a yelp. Looking into his palms, he noticed that he had torn his left palm open a little, not enough for stitches thankfully. After a moment, he got out of bed & entered the small washroom on the side. He opened the mirror to find a salve. While rinsing off the cut, John happened to glance at his reflection & froze. His teeth weren't how he remembered them. Now they were slightly pointed. It was subtle, but noticeable. Especially where his incisors were. In fact four teeth, two top & two bottom, were slightly longer than the rest. No wonder he tore his hand. "My God..." He stood straight. He really was a Lycan now. No going back.

"Mr. Watson?" Abraham called, stepping into the main room.

"Um, be right there!" John hurriedly stashed everything away & came out as normally as he could, pressing a band aide to his cut. Then he remembered; healing powers. Oh well. Whatever. Granted, wolves weren't as fast at healing as vampires so he probably needed the band-aide anyway. But at least, it wouldn't scar.

"Mycroft's having a bit of a problem," Abraham began. "He'll be here late. Feel free to walk about in the meantime."

"Alright."

"You ok?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine. I'm still half asleep really."

"Ok," Abraham sighed. "You should get some breakfast soon & have that tea again." He turned & left.

After breakfast, John walked about the grounds of Deadmoon Downs. Mycroft would be about two hours late since his helicopter decided that now would be a very nice time to literally fall apart. One of its blades had snapped off due to strong winds blowing a tree over. It had broken through even the glass windowpane. Fuming, Mycroft had to order fuelling for his spare chopper that he hadn't planned to use in a while.

So John walked about, ready to go. The grounds were hilly, sloping ever downward. He heard someone running towards him from behind & glanced back to look. "Ohh dear Lord," He heard himself murmur in much the same way Sherlock would.

Jacob pounced. Hard. The two of them went rolling over & over much farther down than John had ever planned. They crashed through bushes & the only thing that stopped them was a large pine. Fortunately, it was Jacob who took the hit & the yelp he let out satisfied John as no orgasm ever could. "Owww!" Jacob moaned, lying prone on the ground, tree jammed up in his side.

"Serves you right!" John stood up gingerly, brushing off dirt from his knees & hands.

"I just wanted to play," Jacob cried, slowly rolling away. He touched his side as softly as he could.

"Well I'm not used to being like this right now," John snarled. "I don't want to play & even if I did, I'd take Enola over you any day."

"Liar! You played with me last night!" Jacob raised his head barely enough to glare. "You kept poking me."

"I was doing that to piss you off," John huffed. "Not play with you."

Jacob looked confused. He sat up slowly, again rubbing his side. "You don't like me much do you?"

John's smile was anything but friendly. "No not really. No. I think you're an immature idiot!"

"I'm only two hundred twenty seven. What do you expect?"

"I'm only forty one," John pointed out. "I'm old. Adult. Grown up."

"Ah I see," Jacob laughed, standing up at last as the healing took over. "You lived a human life & feel like it's half over. You're not in touch with your inner puppy."

"I don't want to be in touch with my inner puppy," John started walking. Any direction was good so long as it was away from Jacob. "Go away."

"Uh hospital's that-a-way?" Jacob jerked one thumb over his shoulder.

"So what?" John scowled, not turning around. "I don't hear Mycroft's chopper so it doesn't matter right now. Would you stop following me, please?" Jacob stared at him. John heard a sniffle, then a long low howl. Mournful. John stopped walked & turned to look at him. "Really? Are you seriously howling now in your human form?"

"I'm still wolf," Jacob shot back. "I'll howl if I want to. You should try it."

"Rather not," John started out in his same chosen direction.

Jacob trotted up beside him. "Let me guess you're a cat person. Hate dogs?"

"No I like dogs," John said. "In fact I have a Dalmatian named Gladstone. My sisters take care of her sometimes. I just don't want to BE one."

"But you are one!"

"What part of go away do you not understand?" John stopped & glared. He noticed the hurt look as Jacob hung his head. John rolled his eyes. "Fine maybe you can help me with something." Jacob looked instantly eager. "What's the history of Deadmoon Downs?"

"Oh Deadmoon Downs used to be a mansion," Jacob said. "It belongs to Abe & his family. They turned it into a hospital long before I was even born. Merlin apparently helped build the castle."

"So is there any sort of magic here?" John pressed.

"Probably," Jacob shrugged again. "I'm not much into history. You should ask my sister Vivianna for that."

"Oh, she's your sister?"

"Yeah," Jacob began moving ahead.

For lack of something better to do, John followed. "How do you tell a Lycan from a vampire if you don't know what they are?"

"The scent," Jacob said. "Wolves have a faint musky smell. Vampires don't smell anything at all apart from whatever perfumes or what-have-yous that anyone wears."

"Oh, I guess I don't know how to sniff them out yet."

"It's easy enough," Jacob shrugged. "You'll get used to it. So you'll be with my pack this coming full moon."

"How does the full moon work anyway?" John asked. "It's three days long. Do we change back & forth every night or what?"

"No," Jacob shook his head. "It's only the middle night. The fullest part. It has something to do with how close it is at the time & how the reflected sunlight reacts with the Lycan gene. It's different from regular sunlight. The actual way it works has been lost to understanding. Few people have figured it out in this modern day."

"So the first & last night have no effect then?"

"Oh you'll feel really sick & tired," Jacob explained. "Just sleep it off."

"How did this start anyway?" John went on. "A curse on someone that got out of hand?"

"No one knows who the first Lycan was," Jacob shrugged. "But it has to do with some sort of old enchantment. We can all have some sort of magic."

"Like what kind?"

"It's different for everyone," said Jacob. "Every Lycan & vampire has two basic powers. We can all charm & w all heal, though Lycan healing isn't as good as vampires which is why we're mortals. Most of us can do some simple sorcery as well, like a Tarot reading or simply seeing things others can't but some manifest extraordinary magic. Like Merlin. He had to have been a Lycan. No one truly knows but since he came out of no where back then & now no one's heard from him in a few centuries, he's most likely a Lycan."

"I'm really mixed with human blood," John put in. "I won't have any power like that."

"Sure you do," Jacob said. "You can heal can't you? Otherwise your first full moon would have been the last."

"But that's pretty basic," John shrugged. "I would just like to sleep physical-nightmare free really. I don't think I'll take that tea at night."

"Physical nightmares? What about? Wait please don't say sex."

John glared before, reluctantly, he explained the dream. "I had a strong sense of who it was when I woke up. I just know it's Siger Holmes & Violet Sherrinford."

Jacob was curled up away from John, staring somewhat fearfully at him. "That's powerful magic. Like Merlin. You're mostly human. How can you do that?"

"Magic? No no," John scoffed.

"Yes!" Jacob declared.

"It's just a dream, Jacob!"

"Much more. It's prophetic somehow."

"Hardly. Siger & Violet were killed over two millennia ago. In the past. Not the future."

"Some of it's past," Jacob said stubbornly. "But if it actually burned you, it will be the future as well."

"That makes no sense!"

"You touched the past," Jacob tried explaining. "It shouldn't hurt you but it did. So something about it isn't finished yet."

"Just because my hands felt warm doesn't mean I actually burned them on anything! It was just a physiological reaction to what I just dreamt up."

"Or it could be more to it," Jacob insisted. "Like, you were looking for something in the water, something golden. That probably has some connection to the burnings. Who knows?"

John stood up. "Sherlock would."

"Then ask him."

"That would be a splendid conversation!" John retorted. "Hello Sherlock. How are you today? By the way, can you tell me the exact spot where you watched your parents burn? Just curious. You understand of course. My God Jacob!" He smacked the wolf over the head. "How can you be so bloody stupid?" John turned & began marching back to the hospital. Mycroft would be there soon & would be wondering where he was. There was no way he could cover all that ground lost back uphill in less than two hours. "I know what I will ask him though. How to hide my fangs like he does." John glared up the hill towards the castle. Sherlock was in a world of trouble!


	17. Chapter 17

**(17) The Innocence Of Lies**

Mycroft was waiting for him by the time John got back. Sherlock, Harry & Clara were already on board. John climbed in as a man came running up.

"Got room for one more Adri? I do need to get back to London."

Mycroft laughed at him. "Not until you finish the giant ice cream cone. You're going to get fat someday, Emrys!"

"Eh whatever!" Emrys shrugged, his eyes landing on John. "Ah the famous—or infamous, depending how one looks at things—Watson Were." John was in the process of rolling his eyes when the man grabbed his hand with his own free one. "Emrys Wyllt." He finished off his ice cream while looking the helicopter over with one hand touching various parts. "It's been ages since I was in one of these things. Best invention ever, next to ice cream of course. Hey Adri. Old pal. Let me fly?"

"Drop dead!" Mycroft scowled. Sherlock didn't bother to hide his grin.

"Come on! It's been ages!"

"No," Mycroft said. "Get your own rust-bucket. This one's mine!"

"Hardly a rust-bucket," Emrys hopped in next to John. "Did that half-useless Service give this to you for a Christmas bonus or what?" Mycroft's shoulders sagged in annoyance as laughter from others could be heard behind him.

"Do you want to walk?" Mycroft glared at all of them. He raised the helicopter skyward after everyone shut up.

John studied the man during the flight. Emrys had shoulder length dark brown hair, tied in a ponytail & a very trim goatee. His eyes were dark cobalt. He was dressed completely in black, from shoes to cape tied over one shoulder. John noticed that the silver belt buckle had actual inscriptions on it but he couldn't read them. Neither could he tell if Emrys was vampire or werewolf as the man was wearing something that smelled of vanilla & cinnamon more than anything else, but there was definitely something not quite right with him.

They landed at Mycroft's usual estate, the one John had known about long before he had been taken to the old castle. John got out, wondering how to distract Emrys for a few moments just to try to figure out what was off. "Emrys, how are you going to get to London from here?"

Emrys looked at him. No, that wasn't quite right, he looked in John's general direction but not really at him. "Oh, Adri's limo will drop me off. Perhaps we will meet again." He bowed slightly & turned to Mycroft, again without actually looking directly at him. Mycroft directed Emrys to the front where his driver sat waiting. The limo took off the moment Emrys was seated inside. John frowned to himself, thinking.

"Something wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"There are a few things about that man I can't get," John whispered. "I can't tell if he's vampire or werewolf, but there's something else to."

"No one knows if he's vampire or werewolf," Sherlock said as he climbed down. His long black coat was still on the seat so it wouldn't get caught. Sherlock grabbed it & draped it over one arm. "He showed up at Deadmoon Downs a few decades ago & is a much preferred doctor over Abe, being much nicer. But he keeps up some sort of shroud none of us can penetrate. Yet. There's not much anyone knows about him apart from the fact that he is a doctor like you really."

"Don't you find that a little suspicious?"

"A bit," Sherlock admitted. "But there's nothing anyone can do but watch him whenever he's around. He & Mycroft have been friends for a few years now. Emrys is the last doctor to inspect Enola. He was able to ease the pain a little, but no more."

"Is there anything else you know about him by just doing that scan of yours?" John asked. "I know there's something off. He didn't really look at me. More like through or around me. Didn't really look at Mycroft either."

"His hair isn't brown," Sherlock remarked. "It's pure white. I noticed a few tiny roots starting to show."

"Really? I did not notice that," John said.

"It's probably his constant shield that makes his gaze a bit off. You are looking at him through an enchantment."

"I guess so," John gave up. He noticed a familiar figure just disappearing from view into the barn. He sighed before stalking after her. It was now or never.

Enola was saddling a pure white mare when John finally entered. He watched her unnoticed for a while. Of all the lies Micah had told him, for some reason John felt that what had been said about Enola was true. In a fit of rage, Micah may have inadvertently let slip a long lost secret. If it was true, it meant the Watsons were innocent. It also meant that the Holmes had destroyed his pack for nothing. John closed his eyes thinking. All this was Enola's fault? He had to be sure.

"Enola..."

She yelped & whirled around, startling her horse. "Hush Serenity! Hush. What do you want Watson?" She focused on bridling Serenity.

John glared at her back a moment. "We Watsons aren't traitors," He suddenly declared in a low voice. "You are. It's all about you. A wandering whore."

Enola slowly lowered the reins & let them dangle. She turned, sending a dark red glare at John. In an equally low voice, she slowly stalked toward him. "You dare go that far, werewolf?"

John inclined his head. His pack was supposed to be Alpha. He decided to reclaim that right. "I dare."

"Adrian, Sherlock, have you seen John?" Sherrinford came up to them as glanced around the area where the helicopter had landed.

"He took off that way," Mycroft nodded to the barn. "Can't be too f—"

Sounds of a viscous fight interrupted him. Shrieks & hissing from Enola against angry barking & an occasional yip from John. The three brothers shared a glance before running towards the barn. They entered the barn just in time to see John sink his teeth into Enola's right wing, biting right through the membrane.

"JOHN NO YOU'LL KILL HER!" Sherlock screamed at him, spreading his own wings & launching at the angered wolf. His coat dropped to the hay-strewn floor as he caught John using the wingtips & threw him aside, then turned to Enola. Mycroft went to stand between the pair on the floor & John still growling. His large blue-black wings touched the barn on both sides. There was no getting by him. John bared his teeth at Mycroft but could do nothing more.

"Will...William. He bit me," Enola gasped. "He bit it through. It burns so much."

Sherrinford knelt down & held up the bite mark, bending her wing on either side of his arm. "The welt is turning green & it's spreading."

Enola looked up at her eldest brother through tears. "There's no cure. He's killed me!"

"Maybe no cure," Sherlock said as he came to join them. "But its just wing membrane only. Brace yourself." Hardly had he said so when he grabbed her wing in both hands & ripped it apart.

"WILLIAM!" Enola screamed. Sherrinford jumped out of the way. "GOD! YOU'RE HURTING ME! STOP! OH JUST LET ME DIE!"

"I'm ripping it out!" Sherlock ripped it again, going down the other side of the welt & then grabbed the tattered poisoned part & yanked. Enola was dragged along with the force but Sherlock ignored her screams as he continued to pull at the large chunk of membrane. Sobbing for blinding pain, Enola flapped wildly with her good wing as she floundered at Sherlock's feet, like a duck stuck in oil until it tore off. Serenity reared & pawed the air but was held fast to her stall's wall by her lead line. She started screaming about as much as Enola. Sherlock held the shredded piece in his hand.

Sherrinford took it as he said to Enola. "Concentrate on healing. I'll deal with John." He stepped up behind Mycroft & nodded towards Enola.

Mycroft let his wings droop but didn't sheath them. "You will burn for this, werewolf." He turned away & sat down next to Enola, cradling her in both arms & wings. She sobbed into his chest, repeated his first name, Adrian, over & over. "Shh, let it heal. The worst is over."

Sherrinford stood before John, who by now had stopped snarling. John lay propped up in hay glaring. Sherrinford held out the puss-filled piece of wing. "I will set aflame the faggots of your burning myself, werewolf, but explain first."

"I tried to confront her," John began slowly.

"About what?" Sherlock stood beside his eldest brother.

"Ask Enola," John retorted.

Sherlock rubbed his brow with one hand. "I thought you were my friend. I thought I could trust you."

"That's still true, Sherl—"

"I put myself through death for you!" Sherlock shot back. "You know how much it hurt me when I jumped. For you. For nothing!"

Sherrinford went on. "Watson, I can only promise you one thing. The more cooperation I get from you now, the shorter your fire will be. Now explain this! Immediately! You KNOW Lycan venom destroys vampires! How could you?"

"This is unbelievable," John stood up, golden glare still on Enola.

Enola pushed herself up from Mycroft for a moment to yell out, "He called me a wandering whore!"

Sherlock glanced back at her then raised both brows as he looked back at John. After a moment of defiance between them, Sherlock backhanded John so hard across the face that John went sprawling into the hay. Sherlock stood behind him & wrenched John up to his knees by his hair. "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me is that I'm innocent!" John shook his head away from Sherlock's grip. "Ask Enola! Watsons are not the traitors; she is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Enola huffed.

"Of course you don't!" John derided, giving up as Sherrinford merely stepped passed Sherlock & grabbed John by the shoulder to keep him from getting up. John huffed. "You told me you took Watson wolves as your lovers. But you're supposed to marry Micah remember?"

"No."

"That gives you no reason to poison her!" Sherrinford let go the piece of poisoned membrane & released his own wings. He put the right point to John's throat. "I should cut your throat right now & be done with it. We never should have trusted you."

"ENOLA!" John screamed at her. She was the only one who could save him. He couldn't see anyone since he was still facing the wall, held down by Sherrinford's strong hand. He felt the cold wingtip by his throat. "You were supposed to marry Micah. Do you have any idea how mad he is? Why do you think he's after your family? I doubt it's for money!"

"Silence!" Sherrinford dug the point in.

"Shane," Sherlock put a hand on his brother's back. They shared a look. Sherlock shook his head.

"NO WAIT!" Enola shot to her feet.

Everyone went still. Sherrinford released John & stepped back. John rolled onto his back so he could see everyone & propped himself up on one elbow. His gaze landed on Enola. He pressed his free hand to the inch-long wound by his throat. "How many Watson wolves lie dead at your feet, you black widow?"

"John," Enola sobbed. "I didn't kill them."

John scoffed. "You as good as. You let my family take the heat for your literal fucked up life!"

"It wasn't like that!" Enola defended.

John stood up, still holding his wound & stood near Sherlock. "I suggest getting those faggots ready. Someone's going to burn for being a traitor but I doubt it's going to be me."

Sherrinford rolled his eyes & in one fluid movement, lifted his right wing as he turned back to John. He held the point to John's face. "Careful Watson! We can make room for two!"

"You can't burn us anyway. It won't work," Mycroft stood up, putting his wings away. "Lycan venom & each other's wing blades are the only way."

"I was never to marry Micah!" Enola snarled. "How can you say that? I was only ever with one of your pack! Micah has no interest in me."

"Yes, he did," Sherlock said. Enola just stared at him. So did John.

Mycroft actually hissed like a wildcat at Sherlock before ordering, "Inside the house. All of you. Right now!" He left without another word, expecting them to follow. Sherlock & John were the last to move.

They past Serenity still squealing in her stall. As Sherlock reached the large barn doors first, John came up behind him. "Sherlock, I—"

"If you ever speak to me again!" Sherlock whirled around & grabbed John's throat in one hand. "They will be your last words. You are no friend of mine." He let go & turned back to the doors.

"That isn't true!" John said, confused. Sherlock had just confirmed what he himself had said. Why did Sherlock act like he was against John now? He stepped back as Sherlock sprang onto him. The only thing he could think of at that moment was shouting out, "I have been & always shall be your friend Sherlock!" Hmm, perhaps he had watched too much Star Trek. What a ridiculous time to realize that fact though!

"Friends don't go around humiliating or trying to murder each other's sisters!"

John grabbed Sherlock's hand & pushed it away. "Now look, I admit I went much too far when I bit her."

"Ha!"

"I was so mad at her," John ignored Sherlock's scoff. "I still am. I reacted. Badly I admit but I reacted. It wasn't all that intentional."

"You almost killed her!" Sherlock punched at the wall by John's head since he couldn't seem to grab hold of the treacherous mutt. He then held an accusing finger in John's face. "You are lucky you just got her wing. If it was in her flesh, it would have gone straight to her heart & we'd be standing in a pile of ash right now."

"I'm sorry. I truly am."

Sherlock stepped away & opened the door. He walked out. John followed. Sherlock turned to walk backwards a bit. "If you live, I suggest you move out of 221B as soon as possible." He faced forward again, still heading for the house. "But that's a really big if."

John stopped walking. He watched Sherlock enter the house, feeling his whole world come crashing down around him. No longer welcome at 221B? No more cases to work on? What would Mrs. Hudson think? Lestrade? Then his biggest worry took over everything else. What the hell was he going to do during full moons? He heard a dog crying as if it had been struck by a car & was now hurt & terrified but alive. It took him a moment to realise that dog...was him. John fell to his knees. "Sherlock I'm sorry! I'm so sorry."

"HALFBRED WOLF! GET IN HERE NOW!"

John looked up. It was Sherrinford. "W-what?"

"Get over here!" Sherrinford held the door open. John got up & slunk inside. "Don't you dare cry. You don't deserve that luxury! Now come with me."

As quietly as he could, John obeyed. He followed Sherrinford through the central corridor, past a few bodyguards working under Mycroft & up the stairs. Anthea stood by herself at the door at the end of the hall. She was armed. After Sherrinford quietly told her to go downstairs & send away the remaining Agents who had no clue about werewolves & vampires, he opened the door to Mycroft's room. It had to be Mycroft's considering the computers & other hardware spread about on three desks, all for the Service. All turned off at the moment. The quilts & duvet had been tossed against the wall & Enola lay on her front on blood-soaked sheets, both wings drooping on either side of the bed. Her good wing lay neatly along the side of the mattress, point resting on the floor. Her shredded one lay in tatters, bits of it rising up on the draft of air made by opening the door. Sherlock knelt on his sister's good side, holding her hand. His back was towards John at the moment. Mycroft was removing a bloodied sheet from Enola's broken wing & putting a new one in place. Sherrinford shoved John into an armchair by the window & went to check on Enola.

Sherlock looked around, making John shift his gaze elsewhere. He found he could not meet Sherlock's eyes though that detective was glaring right at him. John focused on something else. He noticed a large metallic rod of some sort resting in an open display box on Mycroft's central desk, the one closest to him & near the large bay window. It seemed very old & a bit rusted. Out of place next to the modern age technology surrounding it. There was a dent in it near the top. Something was vaguely familiar about it but John had other things on his mind right now to care. Behind it stood a black picture frame. It was a picture in black, grey & yellow of Mycroft with twin girls on a sunny day. They were standing on docks by the sea; a large boat was behind them. Titanic. The frame could be easily flipped down if any human not privy to the Holmes' secret came in; though, John doubted anyone was allowed in here at all.

Sherlock got up & went to the other end of the desk across from John, back toward him. He had his hands clasped in front of his face & he was staring out the window into his Mind Palace. Great! Of all times to go there! Again, John focused on the old rusty rivet or whatever it was, lying in front of him, waiting. He could hear Enola crying softly. She had to be in agony right now & it was all his fault. But that at least, John did not care about.

"What is to be done with him?" Sherrinford was the first to speak.

"That wolf accused Enola of some very harsh things," Mycroft mused. "He's lucky she didn't bite him." John listened as the two elders talked about him while ignoring him for the moment. Sherlock was still a lost cause, off in his Mind Palace. Useless for the moment to everyone in the room. "I don't know Shane," Mycroft put a hand on Enola's face trying to soothe her. "We all warned Sherlock about this. Watsons just aren't to be trusted." He raised his voice a little, in case he was heard. "I hope you're satisfied now, William?"

"Looks like he'll be lost for a while," Sherrinford muttered.

"William!" Mycroft insisted. "Now is not the ti—"

"Shut up! Let me think!" Sherlock huffed. "You too, Enola."

"William!" Mycroft & Sherrinford glared but were ignored.

There was no choice but to wait. After several minutes, the membrane knitting together was noticeable. Sherlock had done a lot of damage trying to get the venom out. He had even snapped one of the ridges in three places. Mycroft kept rubbing it straight so that it would heal properly.

"Watson speaks truth," Sherlock suddenly said. John gasped in relief. Maybe he was forgiven after all. Maybe he wouldn't have to leave 221B.

"What?" Mycroft & Sherrinford demanded at once.

Sherlock turned to face them. "Only he's wrong."

"What?" John asked.

"Adrian, remember when I demanded we tell John what truly went on with us? I mentioned something I found while taking down Moriarty's men."

"Now you decide to tell us what that is?" Mycroft scoffed.

Sherlock looked at John. "I told you Jim had a few wolves & vampires working for him but he didn't even know it."

"I remember."

Sherlock went to stand by Enola. Her wing was more than half healed. "It was a marriage license signed with Micah's full name & stating Enola was to be his wife."

Mycroft & Sherrinford stared first at each other then at their sister. John jumped to his feet. "I knew it!" His gazed turned golden & he glowered at Enola. "Murderess."

Sherlock raised & swung his gun around at John in much a similar way he had turned & pointed that same gun at Jim's bomb by the pool. "I will shoot you here & now if you tire me further with your assumptions."

John stared incredulously at him. "She's responsible for the death of most of my pack!"

Sherlock cocked the gun. "Final warning!" John stared at him a moment then flopped down into the chair again. Sherlock went on, "Enola however, had yet to sign."

"I never got any documents to sign!" Enola declared. "I know nothing of this." John rolled his eyes.

"She's right Watson," Sherlock glared at him, not missing the eye roll. "She doesn't know. Why though, I don't know. I am missing something."

John resisted the urge to bare teeth. "Hell of a time to miss something, Holmes!"

"That document is almost three thousand years old," Sherlock defended. "I found it in some old archives under the Library Of Caledonenis."

"Never heard of it," said John.

"It's for vampires & werewolves only," Mycroft explained. "Not for the public. Merlin's really."

"It doesn't change a certain fact, Sherlock," John tried very carefully to reiterate the fact that Enola had blood on her hands other than her own at the moment. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. John whispered. "My pack..." He nodded to Enola.

"Don't make me shoot you."

"...Sherlock..." John looked at the floor. "Why do you hate me so much if you know the truth as well as I?"

"As well as you?" Sherlock actually laughed before going on. "Oh my dear unfortunate war doctor. I know the truth better than you. In fact, you know nothing." John was about to interrupt but thought better of it. "My sister did not go whoring around behind Micah's back with your ancestral wolves. She didn't know about Micah's interest in her. None of us did."

"What aren't you telling me?" John finally asked. "Is my pack made of traitors or what?"

Sherlock looked long & hard at John before answering, "Not before today Watson."

"Preposterous!" Mycroft exclaimed. "What about Enola's eternal wound? Ennie! Tell us how you got that."

"A Watson Were stabbed me."

"See?"

"Adrian, be quiet!" Sherlock ordered.

Sherrinford stepped in. "I agree with Adri. Will, our sister was nearly destroyed by a Watson. Twice now!"

"Vampires can charm, can they not?" Sherlock stated. "I myself charmed Watson the first day we met so I could lead him to 221B & study him without problems. That bite today however," Sherlock moved slowly towards John. "was a betrayal." John gritted his teeth as Sherlock came closer. Sherlock stood over him, glaring in red. "You figured part of it out. Micah wants Enola. Why, none of us know yet. Yes, your pack may be innocent but you marred that today. You idiot! You should have trusted me. Why did you not come to me with what you discovered instead of attacking Enola?"

"I," John quickly looked down, away from that gaze. He let out a shuddering breath. "I wanted justice for my pack."

"So you bite my sister?" Sherlock actually hissed. "She's a victim in this just like you."

"If you knew my pack was innocent, why didn't you tell me a long time ago?" John shot back.

"I was working that case."

"We work together!"

"This one was also tangled up with Moriarty," Sherlock pointed out. "I had started it long before I came back to you."

John huffed, glaring at that rusted metal rod for a moment as he collected his thoughts. Sticking that rod into Sherlock right where the sun don't shine was one of them. John scowled darkly to himself. "Ok, fine. You know my innocence. You believe it when I say there's something about Micah & Enola. Yet you turn against me & threaten to kill me. Why?"

"What part of 'you bit my sister' do you not understand?" Sherlock huffed. "Look at her!" He waved a hand in her direction. "Look at the pain you put her through. Next time, just bite into her flesh & kill her in mercy. I ask again, why did you not trust me? You should have come to me straight away. Watson, none of us, least of all Enola, can stand the site of you right now. That's why I want you away. I need to think."

Mycroft added, "We can't trust you. At all. I personally never thought we could so it's nothing new to me."

"What you did to Enola is unforgivable," Sherrinford finished. "Thank God you only caught her wing."

"To top that off," Mycroft suddenly continued. "Do you have any idea how exposed I am right now? I had to send all my Agents & bodyguards out while Enola lies bleeding. Anthea's family is the only one who knows what's truly what around here. She's only human & can't guard the whole place by herself!"

"You do know Adrian works for our Secret Service, do you not?" Sherrinford asked rhetorically.

"This hatred between you & Enola is out of control," Sherlock put in. "I never understand why people allow their emotions to control them."

"You let your brother do this to me!" John pointed at his neck wound.

"Blood for blood," Sherlock huffed. "Be grateful I didn't allow more."

John stood up. "I truly am sorry for the bite, Sherlock. Now more than ever!" He raised both hands in a helpless gesture, then lowered them. His left hand landed on the metal rod.

John suddenly found himself in a dark world of cold, ice, water & terror.


	18. Chapter 18

**(18) Imprints**

_John could feel more than hear the constant thrumming of a heartbeat._

John was sliding downward towards the sea. It was night time & the air chilled him to the bone. He caught hold of a railing & was able to stop himself. The incline wasn't very steep but it was slippery from being sprayed by the ocean. After glancing around, John finally oriented himself. He seemed to be on a ship. His sight was hazy & he could hear only muffled sounds apart from the lulling _thump-thump_ of a heartbeat.

People rushed by him. Most were in a panic by now though John could only hear their screams faintly. He glanced downward, odd direction being on a ship that was supposed to be level, towards a small lifeboat.

_The sound of a heart had begun to race in panic._

"Rigel, get out of the way."

John heard that easily enough, though it still sounded far away. Checking out across the water, he saw more of the lifeboats. He felt something push past him & looked behind to see a large black dog. He saw flares go up.

_The heartbeat was faltering now._

Something else sounded around him. John somehow realised that what he heard now could not be heard by anyone else. Soft wailing from another realm. Iron metal itself in pain. The thrumming was slowing now & nearly dead, the death cries of the ship itself. It was iron grinding on iron that made the beat sound out. John gasped, realising where he was. But how did he get here? It had to be another strange dream.

"Mycroft, he's turning cold," Sherlock said. "I'll need more blankets." Mycroft went to find another one as Sherrinford stoked the fire.

"He's been out over two hours," Sherrinford said. "Has he had fainting spells before?"

"Not that I know of," Sherlock shook his head. "If we could just warm him up ..." He took a thick wool blanket from Mycroft who had just returned. "How is Enola?"

"She just managed to put her wings away now," Mycroft said. "Will, what do you plan to do with this wolf? You said he was leaving 221B."

"For a while," Sherlock stood up. "I need to think & I want him & Enola separate in the meantime."

"Wise decision," Mycroft muttered. "I'm not going to say 'I told you so'...I mean uh, oopsies!"

"Adrian," Sherlock grumbled.

"He's coming around," Sherrinford suddenly said.

John opened & closed his eyes for a moment. Then he sat bolt upright on the floor, gasping. He moved himself closer to the fire, pulling all the blankets, four by now, over with him. He huddled, shivering, his lips actually blue. After a moment, he looked around to see the three Holmes brothers watching him. "W-where?"

"In the parlour. It's the only room on this estate with an actual fireplace," Sherlock said. "You passed out & then your temperature began to drop. You've been out for almost three hours."

"I've been-been here, the whole time?" John chattered, still shaking with cold.

"That's right," Mycroft answered. "Have you had an episode like this before?"

"N-n-no."

"Don't get to close to that fire," Mycroft warned. "You're giving me ideas."

John shivered too much to care. If anything, he rather hoped Mycroft would burn him, if only to warm up fast. "I was...on a ship. It sunk."

"Just dreaming," Sherlock said, casting a questioning glance at Mycroft who had walked out. "You were passed out here the whole time."

"Why am I so cold still then?"

"I don't know," Sherlock replied. "Do you have low blood pressure or something? It could be a reaction to your newfound illness." He wrapped part of one blanket over John's head & tucked it under his chin. John noted that he didn't mention Lycanthropy. Apart from Anthea, John knew that none of the remaining servants here knew exactly what they worked for.

"Sherlock!" John gritted his teeth against the shivering. "I was on Titanic."

Sherlock actually laughed at him. "You spent too much time in that hall at the castle."

"No! I was there. I saw it happen. I even met Murdoch's dog!"

"That's impossible," Sherlock said. "Titanic was a hundred years ago. Time travel's impossible regardless where the sun goes."

"William."

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft. "I did not hear you come in."

Mycroft shared a look with Sherrinford & then held up his hand. He was holding the old rusted bolt. "John touched this on his way down to the floor."

Sherlock thought a moment before jumping to his feet. "That magic hasn't been around in over a millennia. Besides, John is more human than wolf. He would be incapable of such power."

"Wolf here," John gasped, trying to warm up. "Talk to me please."

Mycroft held out the rusted rod. "This is a rivet from Titanic, almost where the iceberg hit. I caught it while diving under looking for two children I had adopted. You touched it."

"Sorry!" John mocked, not really car—wait! He just touched a piece of Titanic? He cared about that but not about Mycroft being mad that someone touched his precious rod. John closed his eyes, realising just how wrong that sounded. Good thing he didn't voice it.

"You were out for the same amount of time as it took that ship to sink," Mycroft knelt before him, laying the rivet to one side. Sherrinford & Sherlock hovered over them both. "John ...let me see your palms." Mycroft pulled John's hands towards him.

John opened his hands & the four of them crowded to look. Etched in angry red & black lines, as if burned in, was a strange picture, completed when John put his palms side-by-side. After a minute, it faded & his palms were whole again. "What just happened?" John asked, shaking his hands as if trying to get the picture out.

"You imprinted," Sherrinford said.

"What's that?" John burrowed deeper into his pile of blankets.

"When you touch something it will tell you its history," Sherrinford explained. "An image of it will appear in your palms for a moment. You will learn to recall the images to your palms to study them whenever you wish. That's how REAL palm reading works. Not the scamming crap of lifelines & whatnot."

"You officially have the entire map of the Titanic crash site on the bottom of the Atlantic in you now," Sherlock added.

"Well, I don't want it in there!" John shook out his hands again, like an angry kitty who had to walk through shallow water & did not appreciate it one bit.

"It won't hurt you John!" Sherlock reached out to grab John's flailing hands. "It's just an imprint."

"What part of I don't want it in me do you not understand?"

"Anyone who can imprint will get an image," Mycroft said. "You apparently can. You touched my rivet so y—what's so funny?"

"Really Adrian?" Sherlock snickered. "Just how big is your rivet anyway?"

Mycroft began inspecting the thing. "Well I think it—oh shut up!" He finally understood. He added crossly, "I think I should ban you & Irene from seeing each other for a while." That had the desired affect. Sherlock turned away grumbling.

"Remind me to never touch Irene," John muttered. "I don't need to see what she does to her clients."

Mycroft scoffed & looked at Sherlock. "You still sure you want to send him away from your flat?"

"Now more than ever," Sherlock declared. "I'll watch him from afar. Until the next full moon."

John cast off a couple of blankets, finally starting to warm up. "You will help me through the full moon?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied flatly. "We can't have you running about London or Cardiff killing people. Your attempt on Enola is enough."

John ventured one more question. "So … are we … friends again?"

Sherlock glared at him. "No."

John looked at the floor as Mycroft said, "It will be a long time before any of us will call you that again. If ever. I was initially against bringing a Watson wolf back into our midst. I should have trusted my judgement back then. It nearly cost us our sister." He picked up the rivet & left, Sherrinford right behind him.

"What a mess you made," Sherlock complained, collapsing into a chair & lighting a cigarette. "Look at this. I've smoked three packs in the hours you were passed out. Three! I usually take as many years to smoke that much."

The silence hung between them as Sherlock burned through more than half the cigarette. John cast aside the remaining blankets as his body finally figured out that it was actually nice & dry after all. Sherlock finished the smoke & pulled out another one. John sighed, shifting so that his back was against the fire. "What do you plan to do with me?"

"Absolutely nothing," Sherlock retorted. "I suggest you move back with your sister. One of us will pick you up when the time comes."

"So you're...not going to kill me?"

Sherlock laid the smoke aside in the ashtray, pressed all his fingertips together & turned an icy glare on John. "Not yet. Don't think you're off the hook, wolf! The only thing keeping you alive right now is me. Mycroft won't touch you unless I tell him & I'll base my judgement on how Enola reacts to this once she's fully recovered. So really, if you wish to beg for life, go to her."

"I do not want to speak to her."

"Then leave now."

"Fine," John got up & headed for the door. "I'll take a cab & when I'm done moving out, I'll send you a text to let you know."

"That's acceptable," Sherlock muttered staring ahead. John watched him in silence for a moment, wondering if this would be the last time he'd see Sherlock outside of full moons. Sherlock continued to stare ahead into his Mind Palace. John could see the straight haircut was beginning to curl again. He half-smiled to himself & turned to leave. "You really hurt me today."

John turned back, catching Sherlock's eye. "I know. I truly am sorry for that," he said softly.

"That's why I can't have you around," Sherlock said. "You're not feeling guilty for the right thing. My feelings mean nothing but you care about them."

"Of course I do!" John exclaimed. "They do mean something."

"But you do not care what you did to Enola," Sherlock ignored him. "You'd be happy if she was a pile of ash right now. Admit it."

"Right now, maybe," John shrugged. "I guess. Ask me later?"

"I intend to," Sherlock huffed. John turned away & finally opened the door. Sherlock added, "Do not wait to long. I'll only bother to hold my brothers back for so long, Watson. Be careful." John merely nodded & finally left.

Sherlock remained in his Mind Palace for over an hour. Where had everything gone so wrong? The image of John's venomous incisors sinking into Enola's wing would not leave his mind. What the hell was that war doctor thinking? Idiot! Stupid STUPID idiot! Enola suddenly clouded his Mind Palace & he pulled out.

"Shane told me what happened," Enola said, "That damn wolf ... can imprint?"

"Mhm."

Enola sighed, absent-mindedly putting one hand on her breast to rub at the ancient wound. "What does Micah want with me?"

"I don't know. Yet."

"If I do go & marry him, would he leave us all alone?"

"Unacceptable but possibly."

Enola sighed & took up her brother's hands into her own. "Whatever. We have bigger problems to worry about right now."

"Like what?"

"Adrian," Enola's voice trembled. "He's uh, he ..." She shook her head. "Not good."

"Titanic."

"Mhm."

"Ohhh curse John! Again!" Sherlock got up & allowed Enola to lead him onward.

Sherrinford shook his head as they reached the door to Mycroft's room. The three of them stood outside waiting. They heard glass shatter as it hit one wall.


	19. Chapter 19

**(19) The Grant Pack**

Clara opened the door to find John standing outside with two bags. He looked miserable. "What happened?"

John entered, tossing his bags to one side & collapsed on the sofa. "Sherlock & I—we uh—we had a huge—a HUGE—fight."

Clara stared at him in surprise. John & Sherlock fighting? She called Harriet over. "You're staying overnight then?" She asked as Harriet entered & the pair sat down on the loveseat across from John.

"That bad?" Harriet added. "What did you do? Delete his information on some case or something?"

"I bit his sister," John closed his eyes.

After a moment of silence Clara asked, "Doesn't Lycan venom ...?"

"Kill vampires? Yep!" John sighed before adding. "She's ok. I only nipped her wing. Sherlock ripped the infection right out of it. But he's really mad at me right now. They all are."

"I can see why," Harriet said. "You're lucky you weren't bitten. They're lethal to us to right?"

"Mhm," John nodded. "Harry, is that old little flat still available?"

Harry & Clara shared a glance. "Yes but ... Hamish, just exactly how long are you staying?"

"Moved out."

The girls sat back with a groan. Harry then said, "You're not kidding when you said he's mad then."

"Nope."

Clara shared another look with Harriet before saying, "John it isn't that we don't want you around or anything. You're welcome here 'almost' any time but ... you are an active Lycan now. If you're moving back, what will you do for full moons?"

"I'm not sure," John shrugged. "I won't be here for those. Sherlock is coming for me at a full moon. I'll be at that old castle but for what I don't know yet."

"Go get settled then," Harry stood up. "I'll start on making dinner."

John nodded, picked up his two bags & headed down the hall to the side door leading into the extra room. He sat on the bed, staring at the empty white wall across the floor. After seeing a castle with wall murals from top to bottom, a bare wall now seemed dull to him. He started flexing his hands absent-mindedly for a moment before glancing down into the palms. He tried summoning back the imprint he knew he had but after several minutes, Titanic's crash-zone map refused to appear. John sighed heavily, giving up.

The knock on the door went unanswered. Sherrinford pressed his forehead to the smooth oak panels. "Adrian, will you please open up?" He heard something moving behind the door. Sherlock & Enola stood behind him, waiting.

"Just go away," Mycroft's voice came through the door.

"Ad—" Sherrinford began but the door suddenly burst open.

Mycroft stood in the doorframe; wings full spread behind him & shoved his eldest brother aside. He pointed accusingly at Sherlock. "This is your fault, little one! Bringing that mutt into our home! I told you not to & now look. Enola nearly getting killed. What is wrong with you?" He stumbled back, turned away & tried to close the door at the same time.

Sherrinford shouldered his way in at last. "This isn't about William or that dog right now & you know it."

"No it's just about the fact that Enola nearly got killed. Again," Mycroft said pleasantly, pouring himself another drink. He opened another bottle & added actual brandy to the blood. "By a Watson," he took a sip. "Again."

"No, it isn't," Sherrinford glanced about the room, ignoring Mycroft's scoff under breath. There was glass scattered across the floor from an empty blood bottle. Blood drops from Mycroft's open wings splattered across the floor & on the wall whenever he turned sharply. The computer screens were all splattered with it as well. Though Mycroft looked happy & in a good mood, Sherrinford knew it to be a deadly façade. Mycroft was about to snap; & when he snapped, no human within a mile was safe from his fangs.

"Oh are we to talk about the children then?" Mycroft's merry little laugh sounded very odd in comparison to the scene. "Fine, let's talk about what a complete failure I was to them & oh yeah! How that werewolf managed to remind me of that fact. Again!"

"He didn't sink Titanic!" Sherrinford groaned in exasperation.

"No," Mycroft shook his head thinking. "No I think that was the Captain's fault. Or maybe it was Murdoch's. Either way, it's been a hundred years & they're all dead. I might as well pick on Watson. Got to have someone new to blame, don't I?" He went back to drinking while keeping one eye in his brother.

"Adrian," Sherrinford said sternly. "Put that drink down now."

"Then I put Watson down," Mycroft was still being cynically chipper. He downed his drink & set the glass on the desk. "Let's go!" He tried to lead the charge forth.

Sherrinford put both hands on his brother's chest & shoved back. "No!"

Mycroft finally went serious. "Let me out of here brother or I'll shove my wing through you!"

"We're not even at the castle right now!" Sherrinford shot back, laying one arm across Mycroft's throat. "I had William send even Anthea away before you go feeding on her. Do you want the Service to know what you really are?"

"Why not?" Mycroft's smile exposed the four longer teeth filled with enough venom at the moment to turn the whole Service into the undead. "I can drain them all of blood in a few minutes. What can they do to me?"

"Go lie down," Sherrinford whispered softly, trying to push Mycroft back. He had said the wrong thing.

"That's what you command dogs to do!" Mycroft shot back, curling his wings forward so that both tips came between their chests.

Sherrinford stepped back & spread his own wings, bending the tips forward over his shoulders to cross over his chest in protection. "Adrian, please! Just do as I say."

"Or what?" Mycroft threatened in a low voice.

"You know my wings are longer than yours," Sherrinford said. "You should have speared me while you had the chance. Don't think I won't do it. After all, you're the one who turned us. It's no less than you deserve."

"You would have ended up like Christ if I hadn't!" Mycroft hissed softly. "But without coming back after three days."

"I know but that isn't the point."

"Oh so we're discussing this now?" Mycroft glared in red. "Just what is 'the point' then? Hmm?" His wingtips clicked together against Sherrinford's.

Sherrinford put up both hands, grabbed Mycroft's wings & shoved them away. "You didn't even ask us. You came in, turned us & left for the next one. But we're not talking about that right now. Just please get on that bed!"

Mycroft huffed. He poured himself another drink & went to sit down on the bed. "Happy Sherry?"

"Don't call me Sherry!"

"Whatever Shane."

It was Sherrinford's turn to huff. He ignored the use of his first name as he sat down next to his younger brother. "Look, Adri. We all miss them." Mycroft merely downed his drink & then threw the glass across the room where it shattered against the far wall. Sherrinford sighed before going on. "It wasn't your fault."

"The hell it wasn't!" Mycroft tried to stand up. Sherrinford grabbed him by the shoulders & forced Mycroft to lie down. He lay down behind him & held Mycroft protectively with one arm draped over his brother's side. He positioned himself onto Mycroft's wings so they couldn't suddenly stretch out & spear him. "I should have never taken my eye off them. I shouldn't have left them in our quarters to go out & see what was going on. By the time I got back, the girls were gone. Someone had found them & already put them on a lifeboat. If I had known, I could have merely flown over & snatched them out before that third funnel fell over."

"You do understand the added panic you would have caused right?" Sherrinford muttered. "A sinking unsinkable ship & a vampire flapping about? Bad combination."

"Whatever," Mycroft sighed, not really caring. After a moment, he raised his head to look over his shoulder to his brother & retorted, "Could you please get off my wings?"

Sherrinford gave a soft pat to Mycroft's back between the shoulder blades, just barely above the outer ridges of his wings before getting off not only them but the bed as well. As Mycroft pulled them into himself, Sherrinford changed the subject. "It'll be full moon soon."

"So?"

"So we had better bring Enola here for that time," Sherrinford went on. "Since we're bringing that Watson Were to the castle."

Mycroft groaned. "Oh Gods. Do we have to?"

"Would you rather let all of Cardiff & most of London get killed?" Sherrinford pointed out. "Imagine the stir it would cause for the Secret Service."

"I'll stay here with her if you don't mind," Mycroft stretched his arms over his head & then curved his spine backwards until it cracked. "Sherly can deal with the thing! Count me out."

"Fine," Sherrinford turned to leave. "Any word on de LaCie yet?"

"Nope," Mycroft began to clean up his room by picking up the larger pieces of glass. Sherrinford bent to help but Mycroft said. "I'm fine. I'd rather be alone right now if you don't mind."

"Alright," Sherrinford finally left.

It wasn't until a few days later before Sherrinford actually allowed Mycroft to bring back any of his Service guards or any other human worker to the modern-day estate. Mycroft not being around for his work for that time was explained away by a 'due to a family death' excuse which, all things considered, wasn't far from the truth in more ways than one.

Sherlock had gone back to working random cases alone, much to the stricken looks of the entire force from Lestrade, who had recently returned after receiving a call that Dr. Watson was dead, down to Donovan. After an hour, Sherlock finally understood their mood & explained that Watson wasn't dead as he had first believed but survived his attack just barely. However, the war doctor would be unavailable indefinitely. He ignored all future questions on the subject.

When the time came for the next full moon, Sherlock arrived as promised in Cardiff for John. They shared a look but nothing more. John actually got into the back seat to avoid Sherlock as best possible. The drive into London & up to 221B was mostly in silence. Sherlock got out of the car & after some hesitation, John did as well.

John finally could stand the silence no longer & timidly asked, "How's your sister?"

"She's fine," Sherlock said, not even looking at him. "Jacob? Coming or not?"

"You know I have no choice."

"Well hurry up then," Sherlock grumbled. "Let's not wait for the moon to rise."

Jacob sent a snarl in John's direction before opening the door to the front seat.

"Sherlock, where are you going?"

The three men turned to glance up the stairs. John's jaw dropped. Sherlock merely shrugged it off while Jacob grinned like an idiot. The Woman stood near the top of the stairs looking down at them, wearing a short skirt that barely went past her hips & three-inch high heels that made her all the taller.

"Miss Adler!" John gasped softly.

"Whoa!" Jacob could only stare, not noticing Sherlock's sidelong glance at him. "Nice legs! What time do they open?"

"JACOB GRANT!" Sherlock stared at the wolf in disbelief as John turned away, trying desperately not to laugh.

"So this is the woman you've been texting?" Jacob laughed at him. Unfortunately, his back was turned to Irene who by now had come all the way down the stairs. Next moment, there was a terrific yelp of a dog in pain. Jacob went down hard, clutching his head.

"Nice work, Woman," Sherlock actually bowed to her.

"Friend of yours?" Irene wasn't impressed. "Shut up John!" She hit him over the head with her whip as well; although, not nearly half as hard as Jacob's whack.

"Mycroft's actually," Sherlock answered quickly. "Not mine. I have no friends." That more than anything shut John up. He stared at the ground.

"Well what does that make me then?" Irene asked.

"My lover, obviously," Sherlock returned flatly. Anything but romantic at the moment. John rolled his eyes. He had never liked this woman!

Irene came up close to Sherlock & put one hand on his chest. She leaned close so he could feel her breath against his ear. "So does this lover business of yours include John as well?"

Despite being on the other side of the car, John's wolf hearing heard just fine. Sherlock however, ignored the breath on his ear. He instead, could hear her heart beating & the blood pumping through her veins. Using his human teeth, he leaned in closer to nip her neck before whispering back. "He's not my type." John heard that as well. Jacob's whimpers went ignored. Sherlock added in a louder voice, "Get in the car. Both of you." Jacob & John did so as Sherlock turned back to Irene. "I'll be back in two days. We can continue then."

"I'll be waiting," Irene purred, holding up the key to the flat. As she went up to enter, Sherlock got into the driver's seat.

"Sherlock what is she doing here?" John asked the moment they started moving.

"Oh you had to ask didn't you?" Sherlock glared at the rear view mirror a moment. John noticed the fangs protruding slightly. He was still in the Holmes 'doghouse' it seemed. "If you must know, we're working a case together so she's staying over for a few days."

"So she's not moved in?" John pressed.

"Why? Jealous?" Sherlock snapped.

"No, of course not. I'm not gay. Neither are you apparently."

"Actually, I'm not closed-minded to the possibility. You however are simply not my type."

"I understand why."

"No you don't"

"It's because of what I did to Enola."

"It's because you are a wolf, Watson!" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm only interested in humans. But even if you were human, I would not disrespect my sister by taking the likes of you to my bed!" John sat back with a glare, not saying another word.

Jacob finally spoke. "Are you asking us to believe that in over two millennia, you have never had a Lycan or a vampire lover?"

"Never! Humans only."

"Why? You don't feed on them," Jacob went on. "Well maybe a few centuries ago but now you use blood from the banks."

"I have my reasons. I suggest you stop asking."

Jacob actually glanced back to share a look with John but the war doctor seemed just as surprised. Jacob sighed & curled up as best as a wolf in human form strapped in by a seat belt could do & dozed off. Sherlock eventually reached the helicopter pad where one of Abraham's pilots waited with a machine to fly them all out to the old castle.

Jacob was the first to get out onto the grounds. He ran forward a bit before glancing back, waiting for John. Once John was on the ground, Jacob ran back & grabbed his hand to tug him along. "Hurry up Watson. It's nearly sundown."

John glanced back but Sherlock was already on his way into the castle. The helicopter took off once more. After the noise settled, John found himself alone with Jacob. "Where are we going?"

"Every wolf in my pack has their own spot to transform," Jacob explained. "Then we basically run about the grounds all night long."

"What if we escape during the night?" John was horrified that they were let loose outside on full moons.

"We won't," Jacob shrugged. "Ever watch Jurassic Park? There's a huge electric fence all around this place, not quite that big but you have a good idea of the voltage. If you escape, you're dead. So yeah, actually go knock yourself out."

"Jacob."

Jacob turned back sharply to John, eyes already amber. "I heard what you did to Enola. You're here only because we don't want you off killing anyone else. But don't expect any help or favors from my pack. You're own your own as of now." He let go John's hand & ran ahead into some trees.

John followed reluctantly. He entered the small glade to find seven people there, including Jacob's sister, Vivianna. John realised that this was probably the entire Grant family. The Grant wolf pack. Every last one of them glared at him. John felt that he would be in for another rough night. The others drifted off after speaking to each other. No one spoke to John who ended up alone in the glade by himself.

John glanced around & waited for a few minutes. He decided to fold his clothes up & put them under a bush nearby. This glade was as good a place as any to turn. The transformation hurt as badly as the first one. Once the human had completely disappeared, a yellow wolf with white paws & white under belly, going up to the throat lay gasping for breath on the grass. He slowly got his paws & glanced up at the sky. The glade was bathed in moonlight. The wolf looked down at his front paws & was in the process of bending his head down to attack himself when he heard something. Barks & howls from somewhere up ahead. He listened for a moment before running off to find them.

Once found, John spent the rest of the night slithering around on his belly, tail tucked in. The Grant pack had pushed him so far down the hierarchy ladder that he was lower than even the Omega, one of Jacob's brothers. He ended up running from a distance along one side or even behind the pack until a new scent was caught on the wind.

All the wolves turned as one & bounded around the corner of the castle into one of the silent gardens where someone was sitting on the bench waiting. The wolves didn't harm the man since he was as poisonous to them as they were to him.

Sherlock let the pack go by, standing up as the lone wolf came in last. "So there you are." The golden wolf skidded to a stop so fast that he sat down on his tail. He whined, wanting to run along. "Let's take a look at you shall we?" The gold wolf looked back over his shoulder, crying. He just wanted to run along with the pack, even if they didn't like him. At least he wouldn't hurt himself. But this vampire wouldn't get out of his way. He barked. "Oh you can bite me," Sherlock derided. "It will be the end of both of us." He held out one hand as if daring the wolf to bite. The gold wolf again looked back over his shoulder, then turned back to Sherlock with a whining yawn. "Didn't think so." Sherlock came up & petted back the ears. He squeezed around the sides, feeling the wolf over. "You're a little thin John. You should eat more. I'll have a talk with that sister of yours later."

John lay down like a Sphinx. At least this vampire was giving him some attention. He barked again.

"Oh you're a long way from getting off the hook, Doctor!" Sherlock said, standing up. He took out a small camera & took a few pictures. Unimpressed, John howled under breath & flopped over on one side.

The Grant pack returned, looking for the wayward one. Sherlock shoved the all-black one, Jacob, away ordering them all to go lie down somewhere. The pack eventually lay or sat around the edges of the garden, waiting. Sherlock sat on the bench again while the gold wolf stretched almost three times its length & width, yawned widely & actually went to sleep.

John woke suddenly with the ripping feel of change. The pain of it nearly made him pass out. He lay in the early dawn, trying to catch his breath before sitting up to get his bearings. He found himself in the garden behind the castle. Alone. John forced himself to stand & limped back to the glade to get dressed. He didn't see anyone else on the way there or back to the castle. He entered silently & wandered about looking for anyone. He found Sherlock sitting in a large parlour.

John sat in a chair across from Sherlock. "I remember bits of last night."

"It wasn't so stressful as your first one," Sherlock said. "I told you it would be better."

"The pack hates me though."

Sherlock looked long, hard & red at him. "Can you blame them?"

"Well no," John glanced to the carpet. They sat in an awkward silence for a while before John yawned.

"The Grant pack is asleep in their own rooms here," Sherlock said. "Anthea can bring you to your room."

John sighed. "Dammit!" He smacked the arm of the chair before launching himself out of it, letting the force of the push tumble him forward at Sherlock's feet. He lay his head in Sherlock's lap.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock glared down at him.

John didn't lift his head. "I've missed you."

"So?"

John finally looked up, not bothering to hide his tears. "I hate this. I can't stand you hating me so."

"You Lycans are such drama players."

"Dammit Sherlock! I mean it. I just want to go home."

"It's a long ride to Cardiff. You might want to sleep first."

John stood up. "221B is my home." With that, he started to walk away.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand to pull him back. John collapsed to the floor again, head in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock leaned over to the right & picked up his laptop. He turned it so John could see. "This is you." John looked at the screen saver to see a light golden wolf with white markings on the screen.

"Hmm," John stared at the creature. "Really? It's so pretty."

"Could be better," Sherlock shrugged. "It's lank. Needs to eat a bit more."

John rolled his eyes. "Well whose fault is that?"

"I'm not the one who bit Enola."

"Sherlock," John lay the laptop aside. "I will never bite another vampire as long as I live!"

"Ah that'll be a long time."

"Sherlock please! Just give me one more chance. Please?"

"You don't realise how many chances this family has given you already," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock I—I—what do you want me to do to prove myself?"

"For starters, you can stay away from Enola."

"Done! No argument from me!" John put his hand up as if swearing into office. "Please let me come home with you. I miss annoying Lestrade."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Irene & I are busy at the moment."

"Oh well, yes," John laughed a bit. "I can wait until you two tire of each other again. But after she's gone ...?"

Sherlock huffed. "I'll think about it. For now, let's get you to bed."

"Alright," John stepped away to let Sherlock lead. "I am pretty tired."

"You should be," Sherlock said, heading up one flight of stairs that began at the far end of the parlour.

John followed until he was in that same room again. He hardly noticed the picture of the wolves as he crashed into bed, asleep before hitting the pillow. By the time any of the wolves woke up again, it was late afternoon.

Sherlock had driven John home after the flight, dropping off Jacob on the way who usually stayed in London. As John got out of the car when they arrived in Cardiff, Sherlock suddenly grabbed his hand for a moment. After a moment he said, "I do not hate you John. I'm merely disappointed." John closed his eyes, waiting for Sherlock to go on. "At the moment, you're better off here. Having both Watson wolves together. Micah hasn't been seen or heard from in a while. Mycroft has a few Agents watching you & Harry here right now & some of our own kinds to. Until this mess with Micah is cleared up, it's better to keep you & your sister together. Easier to keep an eye on."

"I guess," John wondered if Sherlock was merely making an excuse. He finally got out. Sherlock headed back for London to 221B.

The next thing Sherlock knew, the River Thames was pouring into his upside-down car with him in it as something or other had rammed him from one side. Sherlock felt someone pull him out only to be shoved into something else. He could only see darkness from all sides, trapped by walls on all sides. A sudden fear gripped him & he struggled all the harder to get out.

Sherlock was trapped in a vampire's worst nightmare.


	20. Chapter 20

**(20) The Lone Wolf**

John stood a little straighter, cracking his spine into place. He glanced to his left & noticed two men in suits, one sitting on a bench reading a newspaper …supposedly. He wondered if they were human or not & decided Sherlock wouldn't mind a simple text asking him about it. He nearly put the mobile away before remembering something else. His teeth were still more pointed, though not even half as big as the incisors of a vampire, at least not while in human form. They were easy enough to hide but still, John wondered how to draw them back into his jaw completely & so sent a second text before putting it away.

It was late morning in Cardiff the day after coming home from the castle. Sherlock had been right. The full moon wasn't as bad as his first time. John grumbled to himself. He needed to find a friendlier pack to run with. The Grant 'mutts' had made it quite clear that he was not their favorite, or even least favorite, pal. They had growled, bitten, pulled his tail & chased him around in circles almost the whole night until they met up with Sherlock in the early pre-dawn morning. He was all but turned into a piñata.

John growled softly to himself, heading on his way again. He had gone out for breakfast, but had bought a few muffins for the sisters who were probably up by now. John took a longer way around, preferring a walk in the countryside.

He saw something like a phantom out of the corner of one eye. Next moment, John went down hard from being broadsided. He heard snarling & felt teeth sink into his arm. John yelped & pulled away. He turned back to punch, only to change his target to the birch tree right behind his attacker. A woman. John wasn't about to hit a woman without a good reason. He recoiled & tried to lick his scraped knuckles but the woman pounced onto his chest, sending them both over. The bag of muffins went flying. So did she it seemed as she leaped off John, snatched the bag in midair & ran off the road through the woods, heading for a house well hidden & far back from the road.

"Hey! GET BACK HERE!" John charged after her. "Those are mine!"

The woman dashed through trees & around rosebushes, stopping nearly on a dime on the front porch. Hearing John yell at her again, she glanced back. Her face changed from mere indifference to downright hate. The bag was dropped onto a chair. She bared her teeth, pointed as his own John noticed. Unfortunately, that moment it took for him to register that she was another Lycan was a moment he couldn't afford to lose. She pounced again, snarling madly. She bit, clawed & pulled at his hair & clothes.

"Are you a Grant?" John gasped, rolling away. He tried not to notice his wounds. He was bleeding from his neck, left arm & right hand. She didn't answer with words but a kick to his stomach, driving him backwards. She bit his other hand. "Ow! What do you want?" John tried to hold her off with little success. She was much stronger than he was despite being half his size & John began to wonder if she was a pureblood. Slowly but surely he was being driven back to the road. After a few more bites, John decided that he didn't care. "That's IT!" He positioned himself for her next attack. "You flying furball!" He landed a punch square in her face. She yipped & flipped backward to land partially cross-legged on the ground. Total amazement crossed her face as she sat there considering what just happened. John would have laughed if he wasn't so mad & in pain. The bitch got up & turned to attack again, only to find his gun firmly in her face. Well now. That was confusing. She scanned around while wondering what to do before looking back at him. "Good," John huffed, wiping blood off his lip with the back of one hand. "Now we're even. Now, do you mind telling me what the fuck is your problem? Sorry I don't usually swear at or around women but I just don't care anymore!"

"You're on my territory."

"Sorry!" John didn't mean it one bit. "You stole my muffins!"

"You can get more!" She shot back.

"I don't want to get more. I want to get my own up there."

"They're on my territory so they're mine now."

"I paid for them!"

"Then you shouldn't have brought them here."

"YOU ATTACKED ME!"

"You're within my territory!" She repeated as if that solved everything.

"I was on the road."

"No, you were on the sidewalk & according to the deed, my property extends three feet beyond it. The muffins stay. You go. I don't want you."

"Give me that bag & I'll gladly leave!"

She considered him a moment, turned & headed up the steps to the porch. She then promptly tipped the bag over to dump the four muffins onto the seat of the chair & handed him the bag. John took it, glared at it, then rolled his eyes skyward, unable to believe he had just fallen for that. "Now leave! Bag's worthless to me so I might as well not keep it. Go away!"

"Listen. Bitch! In more ways then one," John began. She folded her arms, glaring. John glared back. Suddenly he lowered his gun & punched her again. She fell flat on her back. "I'm a soldier. I kill people. Particularly on bad days." He stood over her a moment then went to stuff the muffins back in the bag. By the time he turned back, she was on her feet again. He held his gun out to her. She huffed but could do little else. "Tell you what. Let's both get off your territory & then we can talk on neutral ground. I'll give you a muffin."

She looked at him as if he were crazy. How dare he boss her around on her own territory? "What rank are you?"

"I'm more of a doctor than a combat soldier but I do know how to fight."

"I mean in your pack!" She snarled. "What rank?"

"I don't have a pack."

She was surprised at that. She hung her head. "Neither do I."

John sighed. "I'm a Watson." When she didn't answer, he went on. "I'm John Watson."

"So?"

"John-Anstruther James Hamish Watson," He said the whole name.

"Well don't wear it out," She looked as if she didn't care if his name was 'arsehead' which in her mind, it was. They stared each other down. Finally she muttered, "Mary Morstan."

"Alright, now we're getting somewhere," John slowly lowered his gun. He pulled out a deep chocolate muffin. "Peace offering?" He held it out.

She glared at him a moment longer, then stomped by, snatching the thing out of his hands as she passed. She sat down on the loveseat & began to eat it, watching him. "Who are you? Where do you come from?"

"Doctor John Watson. I grew up here."

"Nuh uh!" Mary crossed her legs. "I grew up here. No werewolf around for miles. I'm the only one."

"I was recently activated."

"Activated?"

"Yes, I'm a Watson."

"You said that already."

John stared at her. Perhaps she knew him by the full name? He tried again. "I'm Dr. John-Anstruther James Hamish Watson."

"Alright I got it! Why keep repeating your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes?" John tried again. "I'm kind of friends with him but Holmes & Watsons have a strange sort of history."

"I know about that detective," Mary said. "He killed himself a few years ago." She ate another piece of her muffin.

"Well he, uh no, not quite...what?"

"What, what?" Mary wondered where this old pooch had been hiding all this time. "He jumped off that hospital in London. He's long dead."

"Ohh yeah," John gasped. "Long dead is right."

Mary paused mid-chew. "What's wrong?"

"He's been dead for over two thousand years," John said. Mary stared at him. "He's a vam...vamp...you honestly have no idea do you?"

"Vampire? I've heard of them but never met one, at least not that I know of."

John turned away to mouth the words 'Ohhh wow!' to himself. "It's a really long story."

"Sit down & start talking," Mary indicated the chair where the muffins were. "You have three muffins & that's it. This IS still my place you know."

"First I want to know what happened to you?" John sat down. "How can you not have met other Lycans or vampires?"

"Mum & Dad both died when I was young, about ten or eleven years old," Mary said. "Mum got injured & became really sick. Dad was killed a few months before that in a car crash. But we were rich enough. I've been able to take care of myself. I've lived here all my life, about thirty years now. I've never been out of Cardiff really."

John nibbled at his own muffin while thinking. He suddenly leaned forward. "Can you describe her injuries?"

"Well yeah," Mary began. "It looked like she tore herself on a nail or something. It all turned green."

"It all turned green," John gasped, leaning back. "My God! She was bitten by a vampire. At least, when a Lycan bites a vampire, the venom goes green. A bite from them would kill one of us as well."

"Aren't you supposed to stab them with a stake?" Mary asked dryly.

"Fiction," John said. "It has to be from another wingtip of a vampire or a werewolf bite; otherwise you just can't kill them."

"Hmm, like I say," Mary shrugged. "I never met one."

John got up, crossed the space between them & knelt down in front of her. He took her free hand into his own. "Mary don't you realise what I'm saying? I think your mother was murdered."

Mary stared at him before standing up sharply. "What?"

"Vampire bites kill us!" John pressed. "Was your whole family werewolves?"

"Mum was. Dad wasn't." Mary said. "Mum was pureblood. I'm half. Why would anyone want to kill my mother?"

John looked up at her as he pulled open his mobile. "I'm about to find out. Sherlock's good at things like this. He'll figure it out." After it rang & went to voice mail John said, "Sherlock! Call me now! I have a murder for you. One Lycan. Survived by a daughter, Mary Morstan. Where are you?" He hung up.

"Do you think he'll call back?"

"He should," John shrugged, hoping he wouldn't have to tell her about the fight he had with the detective. He gingerly rubbed the back of his neck, one place where she had bitten him. The wound had closed over by now but it was still soar. "I doubt he could pass up a case like this."

"Oohh I've never actually met a vampire," She shuddered, not in fear but in awe.

"Believe me, after meeting Sherlock you'll wish you hadn't," John laughed.

"Why?"

"He's a pain in the arse," John explained Sherlock's mannerisms, finishing off with, "He's also an Aspie. Born with that a few millennia ago."

"An Autistic vampire? Well that's one I've never heard before!"

"Yeah well, now you know. He's crazy!" John snickered. "Plays violin though, so I guess he can't be all that bad."

Mary smiled before asking, "Do you really think my mother was murdered?"

"I'm sure of it." John stared out across the yard towards the road beyond the trees. The whole place had a shield of trees all around it. Mary had lived a sheltered life. Alone.

"What was it you said earlier? About you not being active?"

John looked back at her. "Come home with me. I'll explain on the way."

Mary glared at him. "You're bringing me to your territory?"

"It'll be fine," John said. "My sister & her mate a—"

"I thought you said you didn't have a pack?" Mary was all bristle again.

John cross-rolled his eyes. "I don't. Just those two & Sherlock. None of them are active Lycans. Harriet is dormant. Clara's human & Sherlock's vampire."

"Clara?"

"Yeah my sister is...oh, you don't mind, do you?"

"No, they can mate with a cactus for all I care."

John chocked on his muffin at that imagery. "Come on. I'll explain on the way."

"Fine," Mary was all a-bristle again, not used to taking orders but her curiosity got the better of her. "This'll be interesting."

"Will you stop that?" John muttered annoyed. "You're a wolf, not a porcupine! Gees."

"What? It will be is all."

John shook his head as they headed down the path to the road. "Don't you have any friends?"

"Why would I?"

"You & Sherlock will get along just fine," John scowled to himself, not caring that she overheard.


	21. Chapter 21

**(21) Buried**

As they returned to a more civilised area, Mary pressed closer to John as she constantly glanced around. She had become very quiet & even skittish. John wondered what was wrong with her. He linked arms with her as they turned up the drive to the main door of Harriet's home. "It's alright. You're invited onto my territory as you put it."

"I know," Mary looked back towards the road. "I'm just not used to being out here."

"Not a city girl?"

"Not really no."

"You do need to get out more," John said, grabbing her by the arm to pull her back towards the door. "I mean you didn't even know about the Lycan gene lying dormant or anything."

"Well I was born halfblooded, which is far more than you have."

"How do you spend the full moons without killing yourself or having others hear you?"

"I have a soundproof basement with chains," Mary said. "My mother & I both used to stay down there." She stopped at the bottom step of five stairs leading up into a covered front porch. She leaned in close to whisper, "John, who is that?"

John looked to where she was pointing & saw someone sitting on the large armchair on the right-hand side. "Mycroft Holmes. One of Sherlock's older brothers." He entered the porch as Mycroft stood up.

Mycroft glanced Mary over, then looked at John. "Found yourself a cute bitch did you?"

"She nearly killed me so," John shrugged, casting a glare at Mary. "She owes me. BIG!" Mary snarled at him but hiding a laugh.

Mycroft remained silent a moment. "Sherlock's missing."

"What?"

"His car was found in the Thames earlier today. It's been there all night," Mycroft explained. "Lestrade & Mrs. Hudson have not seen him. Neither has that woman."

John didn't need to ask who that woman was. Mycroft liked Irene Adler about as much as he liked John. Yet he had hired her for himself at least once or twice. John decided to not bother trying to understand the complexities of the man & simply asked, "Any idea what happened?"

"Not yet," Mycroft shook his head. "We've all been trying to call him but he hasn't answered or called back yet."

"I know," said John. "I've called him earlier about Mary. I think her Lycan mother may have been murdered by a vampire. Does vampire venom show up green in us as well?"

"Yes it's the poison that rots right through to the heart," Mycroft eyed Mary with renewed interest. "Come here girl." Mary shrank back behind John. "Come on. I just want to take a look at you."

John looked over his shoulder at her. "It's all right."

"Is he a vampire?"

"Over two thousand years old."

"I think I'll stay here thanks," Mary stayed pressed up against John's back.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Using his closed umbrella, he brushed John sideways & stepped forward to grab Mary's shoulder before she bolted. "Relax." He let his umbrella topple over by their feet. He held up a finger in her face as he warned, "One bite & you'll regret it. I will have enough time to take you down with me so don't bother. Understand?" Mary merely nodded. "I just want to look at you." He proceeded to examine her, gently patting & squeezing her muscles from shoulders to down the legs. "Good strong build. Age?"

"Around forty," John said at the same time Mary answered. "Forty two."

"Ah, a pup. You say the mother's a Lycan. What about your father?"

"Human."

"Half blood. Better than John. You can whip his arse."

"Already did," John scowled.

"Good," Mycroft turned Mary back around to face him & pulled out a pair of white surgical gloves from his inner jacket pocket. He put them on & slipped his left thumb & forefinger into her mouth to feel the teeth. He then pulled the jaws open a little before letting her go. Mary whined as she pulled away, casting a worried glance behind her. She reminded John of a deer faced with a decision of bolting or remaining perfectly still hoping to stay unseen. Mycroft turned to John. "I've never met this pack before."

"I don't have one," Mary said.

"Not anymore," Mycroft replied. "But I overheard you saying you shared the room with your mother on full moons. You did have a small one."

"She's been on her own since around eleven years old," John explained.

"Hmm," Mycroft sighed. "A lone active Lycan. It's unheard of. Why don't you go inside Mary? We'll be with you in a moment."

Mary glanced at the door but shook her head. "No," She backed up a few paces. "It's alright."

"Figured," Mycroft muttered mostly to himself. "You're territorial & this is not your place."

"Aren't we all?" John asked.

"Not in this way," Mycroft began. "She's actually territorial over land. Lycans that have packs & vampire friends don't really care where they spend their full moons so long as they're together & under the vampire's care that controls them. They're territorial about the people they're with. Not the area."

"So the Grant pack can go anywhere?"

"They wouldn't care less if they changed at the castle or at the estate," Mycroft said. "So long as everyone's safe."

"Mary I brought you here to sort a few things out," John said to her. "You can go in."

"Alright," Mary said without hesitation & was halfway through the door a nano-second later.

John threw up his hands. "What the hell?"

"This is your place," Mycroft explained. "You tell her what to do. I'm just a visitor. She won't care about me. Only you. There's something you should know," he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Her back teeth are yellow. She's feral."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Depends really," Mycroft shrugged. "One Lycan on a full moon can kill everyone in Cardiff in one night. Feral loners usually turn into killers. The few that don't, live lonely lives."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Does she need a dentist for those yellow teeth?"

"No no, nothing like that," Mycroft said. "It's natural to a feral Lycan. It's their venom showing through. It's yellow in the teeth. The green is when it has become a taint in a vampire's flesh. Wild Lycan's tend to have more venom produced as a defence. Hence the gloves." He started pulling them off.

"She pretty much raised herself," John admitted. "Since before she was a teenager."

"Good thing she chains herself up," Mycroft said. "There's hope for her yet."

"Hang on, do Lycan infants change in their first month? Seems a bit much for a baby to live through."

"It isn't the same for babies," Mycroft said. "Lycans that young will get sick & tired. They would sleep it off. The first year is spent mostly sleeping. When they pass the first birthday, then the moon starts taking a hold of them. They'll change a little more every full moon until in about four or five years, they'll complete the first actual full change. After that, they become actual wolves every month."

"So they quite literally grow accustomed to it."

"Pretty much."

John shook his head & changed the topic back. "What about Sherlock?"

"I just thought I should let you know he's missing," Mycroft said. "He's still holding out for you. I on the other hand, never trusted you for a second."

"Mycroft I—"

"Don't…mention it!" Mycroft's glare had gone red.

One bite. John huffed inwardly. "Will you come in?"

"No," Mycroft retorted. "I already have the Service looking into this as well. When we find him, we'll let you know. Good day." At that, he headed down the stairs & left.

John went inside to find his sister. She was on the couch in the living room, reading a book. Mary, who had stayed by the door just inside waiting, followed John deeper into the house. "Harry," John sat down beside her. "Sherlock's missing."

Harry put her book aside. "What? How?"

"Mycroft was outside," John went on. "Sherlock's car was found in the Thames. He isn't answering any calls. No one knows how it happened yet."

"Mycroft was here?" Clare asked as she entered the living room. "Why didn't he just call?"

"Doing me a service because of Sherlock," John said. "He really doesn't like me though."

"Give it time," Clara sat down. She noticed the woman standing behind the couch to be near to John yet out of the way at the same time. "Who's this?"

"Mary Morstan," John introduced them. "Harriet my sister."

"Older by a few minutes," she was sure to inform. "That's only after nine months of fun in a six-nine."

"Harry!" John grumbled, earning laughs from all three women. "That's Clara." He waved a hand in her direction to get it over with

"My brother's the king of sex," Harriet laughed harder. "Straight from the womb...though I wonder just how 'straight' that is, seeing how he's given in to incest & all that."

"SHUT UP!" John thumped his foot like a rabbit. Harriet rolled off the couch & landed hard on the floor from laughing too much. John's face was as red as ever. He looked up at Mary. "This is my pack...as you put it." Mary turned away snickering. John huffed & went on. "Look I brought Mary here because I think her mother may have been murdered by a vampire." As the laughter finally died down, he added, "I was hoping Sherlock would meet her & find out, but now..."

"Any idea what happened?" Mary asked.

"Well it has to have something to do with Micah de LaCie ," John said. "He is after the Holmes family. But he's been out of sight for a while. I should go to London & find Lestrade. Mycroft will keep in touch with him & I can keep updated through Greg & give Mycroft some space." John stood up & turned to Mary. "Why don't you stay here & hang with the girls? I'll come find you later when Sherlock's back."

"Alright," Mary sniffed the air around & looked at the other two females.

"Don't get all huffed up," John laughed at her.

"We'll have loads of fun," Clara schemed.

"Oh yeah," Harriet caught on. She put one hand on Mary's right arm. "We'll tell you all about the horrors of Hamish while he's gone."

"On second thought, come with me," John took hold of Mary's left arm & pulled.

Harriet pulled back. "I think she should stay."

"I think she should come with me."

"She needs some girlfriends."

"Not that kind."

"Hamish, the she-wolf stays!"

"Bite me!"

Meanwhile, Mary was being yanked back & forth between the two of them. "HEY! I'm a Lycan not a wishbone!" She pulled away from both of them.

Clara came up behind her. "Mary, you really don't want to be hanging out with some dude while he's out on business do you? It's so boring. I have some honeycomb."

"Oh boy!" John growled but was ignored.

"Would you like to try some?" Clara held out her palm, a fat chunk of honeycomb sitting in the center of it.

"Ooh I've never had that!" Mary's eyes went gold as she tried.

"No Mary. Honey?" John blanched, confused. Wait. Was he calling the bitch honey or talking about actual bee-spit? Whatever! "Um, don't...don't fall for that. Just…no."

"I think I'll stay here," Mary decided.

John realised he was defeated as the other two women crossed their arms. They were keeping Mary & that was final. A Dalmatian came in & sat down at Mary's feet while looking up at John. "You too, Gladstone?"

"Hey, Glad's a girl too, what do you expect?" Harriet teased.

"Ok," John gave up & left. He had to find Sherlock. Mary...all the girls, Gladstone included—grr—will be dealt with later. Double grr.

A right-cross turned Sherlock's face sideways. He gasped & spat out more blood as he knelt before Micah, held down by two men who had his wings in their grip. They used Sherlock's wings as poles against his shoulder blades to push him down. Sherlock held his jaw with one hand. He couldn't reach out to grab Micah, standing just barely out of reach. "That's better," Micah huffed. "Now I'll ask again. Tell him where you're going to be." He held out a recorder.

Sherlock glanced sideways to his prison. It was a sleek onyx casket with royal purple lining. Contrary to popular belief, every vampire hated, even feared, being stuck inside one. Buried alive—technically speaking—was a nightmare. Being around their own grave was fine. It wasn't like they actually stayed inside it. Sherlock coughed out blood. He hardly had time to heal. Micah made sure of that. "I won't do it."

"You're trying my patience," Micah tiredly pressed one hand to his nose.

Sherlock looked up from him with a smirk. "The more I piss you off, the more times you'll take me out of there to beat me up."

"This is the last time I'm letting you out," Micah hissed. "I have found another way."

"Oh I can hardly wait."

Micah punched him again, then nodded to his two friends, one on either side of Sherlock to hold him in place. Both of them as well as Micah, had their wings out & folded against their backs. They forcibly held Sherlock's wings out behind him. They had been dented in more than one place. "Take him." Micah led the group to the basement floor. His two friends forced Sherlock forward, using his wings as leashes to prod him onward. They were sure to keep the breaks from healing by snapping them again on occasion.

The basement floor was as large as the whole house above, about five hundred square feet, empty but for one wall that was a mirror from one corner to the other & from top to bottom. It looked more like a dance hall. Hauled roughly between the two other vampires, Sherlock was lead to the center of the room where a pole stood. It wasn't a dancing pole. Sherlock worked his jaw, recognising what it was for. "Ah yes, you would know eh?" Micah teased. "You watched your parents shackled to something like this & set on fire."

"So what?" Sherlock shot back. "I'm vampire now. Burning me won't kill me."

"It would however," Micah put one hand on the pull & lifted up the shackles. "kill your girlfriend. What's her name? Oh yes, Irene Adler." Micah paused, listening to Sherlock, waiting for a denial. When none came, he went on. "She's a Dominatrix right? Recognize these types of shackles? I'm sure she's used them on you."

"Irene doesn't know what we are," Sherlock said. "She has nothing to do with us. She's just a human girl!"

"Well you have approximately thirty seconds to record this message or else, she will know the monster she's been sleeping with," Micah rolled over a trolley with a TV on it. "She'll be screaming about your lies while you stand here & watch her burn."

Sherlock watched the screen. It was hooked up to Micah's house alarm system & he saw Irene outside, just getting out of a car, wearing a skin-tight silk dress that was so dark blue it was nearly black. She was greeted by another man, one Sherlock knew was vampire & a friend of Micah's; one of few who had been on James Moriarty's team though Irene herself didn't know. They seemed friendly enough with each other. The man invited her in. "Micah, let her go. Now!"

"She's here of her own free will," Micah said. "Thomas hired her for the evening if you know what I mean."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's her job."

"You're the only one who gets her for free," Micah mused as if having a normal conversation. "Do you know how much Thomas has to pay for her services this evening?"

"At least eight hundred pounds," Sherlock muttered.

"Hey now, why the sourness?" Micah asked. "It's your problem you hooked up with a whore."

"Dominatrix."

"Whatever. Now, are we doing this?" Micah held up the recorder again. "Or are we doing this?" He played with a shackle on the pole. "This place is sound & fireproof. No one will hear her."

"Micah..."

"Thomas will be so disappointed," Micah added.

"Fine I'll do it!"

"I thought so," Micah held up a recorder again.

Sherlock sighed. He'll have to find another way out of this. "Mycroft, I'm in a coffin. I'm buried."

"Excellent," Micah pushed the three of them back. "Don't worry, with that Secret Service of his, it shouldn't be long before he finds you. Although, he should know EXACTLY where you are."

"What does that mean?" Sherlock glared.

"Let's just say I know exactly where to put you. It should be the first place your brother looks for you but knowing him," Micah sighed sadly. "It will be the last. If at all." He moved the coffin to the back door & pushed it outside. There was a car waiting. Micah opened both the coffin & the back door that swung upward & then came back. He nodded to his friends holding Sherlock. "Bring him up there."

Sherlock found himself being dragged to the door of the stairs going upward. "Micah what are you doing?"

"I said thirty seconds," Micah began. "You took forty two so, sorry but I don't want the lovely little lady being with a monster without knowing it. Can't have that can we?"

In a rare show of complete helplessness, Sherlock's eyes went wide for one moment. "Micah no! She doesn't need to know."

"Oh but she does!" Micah insisted as he put his wings away & got dressed. He then took hold of one of Sherlock's wings & then the other in turn, letting the other two appear human again. "Then I'll take you out myself." He pushed past once they were at the top of the stairs & headed beyond to the parlour, putting on his most worried face. "Miss Adler. MISS ADLER! Thomas get her out of here now!"

"Why what's wrong?" Thomas & Irene stood up in alarm.

Micah shoved passed & grabbed several pool cues from the far wall. "You'll never guess what I just found in my basement!" He handed a stick to Thomas & another to Irene. "My dear, I'm sorry to have to tell you but Sherlock is dead. Long dead."

"What do you mean?" Irene asked. She turned around quickly when she heard a yelp of pain. "Oh my God!"

Sherlock had just been shoved into the parlour with Micah's two guards still breaking his wings. It sent him down to one knee as he arched his back as best possible against the snapping of cartilage, which now stuck out of the membrane. He hissed at Micah through gritted incisors before pulling them back into his jaws. He caught Irene's horrified eyes. "This is not what it looks like."

"…Sh...I…my God! What are you?"

"It's rather obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock managed a laugh. In truth, he was near tears, none of which were for the pain in his wings.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock shook his head, silencing her. He whispered, "Trust me."

"Keep hold of his wings!" Micah stepped forward with Thomas. "I know just what to do with him."

"What?" Irene asked.

"I'll finish him off & bury him."

"But..."

"Woman! Quiet!" Sherlock glared at her & shook his head. He would handle this. Irene could only stare agape at the strange sight. Sherlock Holmes? With wings? Fangs? A vampire? No wonder he came back from Jim's game. She watched as Sherlock was wrenched into the hall, dragged by his wings & pushed forward with the cues. He actually cried out in pain as they snapped apart. As the group disappeared around a corner, she made to follow but Thomas went back & blocked her.

"We've had our suspicions for a while," Thomas said. "We baited him to come here. You were part of the ruse. It's all over now. It'll be alright."

Irene stared at him for a moment & then threw the pool cue in her hand across the room. "What I just saw was a piece of fiction walk off the page! Sherlock! A vampire? Are you insane?"

"Micah's family comes from a long line of vampire hunters," Thomas explained. "We've been after this beast for a while."

"Beast?" Irene gasped almost under breath.

"Trust me Irene," Thomas put a hand on her shoulder. "These monsters are real. They're not like in fiction. Sunlight. Silver. Have no effect on them. The best way to paralyze a vampire, as you saw, is to go after the wings. Highly sensitive. It's the only way."

Irene hesitated a moment. "What about...about...Mycroft?" Thomas shook his head. "Sherry? Enola?" Thomas continued to shake his head. "ALL of them? They can't all be vamp...oh no! John? Please God! Spare Watson this fate?"

"He isn't human either."

Irene covered her face in both hands & turned away, hiding a few silent tears. "Oh no! No, it can't be true."

Thomas stood behind her & wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry we had to use you like this. Don't worry. You were kept safe the whole time."

Irene had stopped shedding tears by now, but she was shaking uncontrollably. She suddenly wrenched herself from Thomas's arms & ran to the full-length oval mirror on a stand in one corner. She pulled her collar down & looked for bite marks on her neck. She turned sideways trying to find anything on her back. "I've had a couple sessions with Mycroft a few years ago. As for Sherlock, we all know how long I've been with him. There was something irresistible about him." She kept twisting back & forth, shoving her hand on the material to feel around for any lump or indentation. Any proof of an old bite. Or a new one.

"About that," Thomas came up to her. "First of all, you're fine. You're still human."

"Are you sure?" Irene murmured, half-hearing him.

"You wouldn't be alive today if you weren't," Thomas said. "The other thing is, vampires can charm someone. Your love for him was never real. He beguiled you." He watched Irene come undone. Sherlock was completely destroyed now.

Irene knelt down, shivering. Thomas put his jacket over her & sat on the carpet next to her. She finally asked, "How is Micah ge—getting—destroying Sherlock?"

Thomas made a cut across his throat. Beheading. How ironic. "Then he'll be buried in a very deep unmarked grave. Not in a Christian cemetery that's for sure."

Irene closed her eyes & turned her face away. After a few moments of silence she said, "I have to ... get to Katie. I have to go home."

"You could stay here if you like."

"No, I need to protect Kat—she isn't a vampire is she?"

"Not that I know of."

"Alright," Irene sighed. "Alright. I should get home." She got up, handing the jacket back. She went to find her own.

"I'll drive you home myself," Thomas said.

"For God's sake Micah!" Sherlock tried to resist being stuffed back in the coffin. "What do you want with us?"

"Just take a nice long nap. Don't worry about the girl. Thomas will take good care of her tonight."

"Micah! Tell me! Where are you putting me? What cemetery?"

"Don't you know?" Micah asked. "You should. The answer's right in front of you."

"Micah!" Sherlock tried again but he was finally forced into the coffin & the lid was closed & locked. He punched the top of his prison a few times as he felt it lift into the air. "Oh come on Micah! A coffin? This is so cliché!"

"Just relax," Micah's voice sounded far through the satin walls. "You should be out in no time, provided Mycroft gets over himself & actually goes where you are to get you up."

"One of us will kill you!" Sherlock huffed.

"Oh don't try spreading your wings," Micah tapped the lid. "You won't be able to get through this. I made sure of that. You're just going to have to lie there & wait." He laughed as he watched the truck drive away, carrying Sherlock's casket.


	22. Chapter 22

**(22) Element Of Fear**

John opened the door to the police department after a short hesitation. The moment he stepped inside, time stopped. Everyone froze in place as all eyes turned to him. Sally was the first to look away as Lestrade stepped forward. He gave John a short hug, using the excuse to get close so he could whisper, "We heard about the rape."

John pushed Lestrade away & stared in confusion. "Ra—WHAT?" Just what in the hell did Sherlock say to cover up the full moon? Oh he will die! Horribly. "I wasn't—I was not raped Greg!" He spoke loudly enough so all could hear.

"John," Lestrade began. "Anderson & Donovan found you. They saw it all. You were completely stripped, bloodied. Unconscious. Not to mention the dead man next to you. It's ok; we know what happened. It's ok."

"No it isn't," John glared. "I wasn't raped. At all! Attacked yes, but he didn't get to me!"

"Ok," Lestrade turned away, not believing him. John just didn't want to talk about it. Understandable. "What do you need?"

John didn't fall for the subject change. "Greg, I'm fine. I haven't had any sex of any sort in over six months. I was NOT raped. Got it?"

"Yes, yes, I got it," Lestrade held up his hands in surrender.

John checked around but everyone averted their eyes as his glare passed over. They didn't believe him. The hell with it. "Anything on Sherlock?"

As if in answer to his question, Mycroft came in. He cast a short glare at John before addressing Lestrade. "He's still missing." Mycroft said, "I have Agents the world over looking for him for the past two hours."

"I've sent people out from here as well," Lestrade as he headed for his office. "I was just going to check on the latest reports. I'll be right back."

Mycroft grabbed John's arm & pulled him aside into an empty office. "I can use the cops a little longer since they're just out looking for him. But I can only use the Service for one day. They know he's actually buried somewhere. After that, they'll think they're looking for a body. So I'll have to cut down the manpower & only use our kind from then on. Vampires are physically fine in a grave. We have all the time in the world. The problem is ..."

"If Sherlock is found a few days later, or longer, he'd still be alive so to speak. People will talk."

"It gets worse," Mycroft hesitated before going on. "Vampires are extremely...& I MEAN extremely, claustrophobic."

"Really?"

"If we don't get Sherlock out soon, he'll go crazy," Mycroft said. "Also, after a day or so without blood, he'll stop at nothing to get blood. He'll feed on the first human he sees. Blood to us is like water to living folk, remember. John, this will really hurt him regardless of when we find him."

"Any idea who did this?"

"It's Micah," Mycroft huffed. "He has done nothing but attack my family for millennia."

"What does he want with you anyway?"

"Oh I don't know," Mycroft sighed & stared up at the ceiling for a moment. "He seems to want to do anything possible to destroy us. Cause us hurt. The worst thing he could do is seal any one of us in a grave."

"Don't think like that," John tried to distract Mycroft. "There has got to be worse things than that."

"Well yeah, like you biting my sister for no good reason."

"Right, okay," John grumbled. "Any idea where he could have stashed Sherlock?"

Mycroft actually snickered at the word 'stash' before shaking his head. "None whatsoever. He could be any where from here to Canada or anywhere in between."

"We'll find him," John said.

Mycroft barely nodded as he got up & left the office. "Lestrade, I'll keep you posted." Lestrade nodded as John followed Mycroft outside.

"How's Sherry & Enola holding up?"

"Sherry's out there digging around to," Mycroft said. "Enola should be with him. The sooner Sherlock's found, the better."

"Any idea who did this?" Lestrade stepped outside a moment to ask.

"No," Mycroft said as he got into the limo. John stared at him.

Not long after Mycroft left, John received a text. "I can't have the police running after vampires. Micah would kill them all." John merely sent back an 'Understood.' He set out as well. He headed for 221B to see Mrs. Hudson.

In frustration, Sherlock punched the top of his casket for the umpteenth time. The ringing silence pressed in on him like a cloud. "Micah! Open this up!" He knew it was useless. He felt the sinking sensation of being let down a while ago but he had yet to hear the 'thud-thud' of dirt being piled on top. Micah wouldn't let him out but if the grave was still open, perhaps someone else would hear him & come to look. He had already tried spreading his wings to cut through but as Micah had promised, it was impossible. Sherlock sighed. As if his situation wasn't morbid enough, he knew that the casket had to be layered with broken off vampire wings. A vampire could cut through almost anything with their wings, even diamonds...but not the main hard parts of another wing. The membrane in-between ridges could be ripped but clashing wing-points could not penetrate each other. At least Sherlock had time to heal.

He pulled out his mobile. It had no signal at all, frustrating as ever, but at least it offered some light. It had one file in the windows player but that was it. Sherlock didn't bother with that. He used the frail yellow light to shine over the area. It only showed him the deep purple satin of his 'final resting place' ... as if he needed one. Besides that, it didn't do much else. "Why won't you get a signal hmm?" Sherlock stared at it. "The grave's still open so it should go through." He lay quiet, thinking. Mind Palace. He could only stay in it a few minutes at a time. The building sensation of being trapped, cramped up in a small space, could not be ignored forever.

This time, the sound of gurgling as if someone was hungry knocked him out of the Palace. Sherlock dropped the mobile & pushed both palms against the ceiling. His wings slid open & pressed against either side. He pushed hard in all three directions at once but to no avail. "Ohh DAMN IT!" He sounded more like John for a moment. Hmm, John was a bad influence on him. "Mycroft hurry please!" He pounded on the wall in his face a few times before pushing again so much he arched his back. A sudden crack made him yelp & cease. His left wing suddenly ached something fierce. It was dislocated. Sherlock sighed with a long growl, ignoring the urge to cry about the mess. His disjointed wing gave him enough tears of stinging pain. It was slow to heal.

Sherlock forced himself away from the trap. Away from the pain. He had to stay in his Mind Palace. He focused on that gurgling sound he had heard earlier. What made that sound anyway?

Now he needed to stretch. Badly! It was hard to do. Micah had put him in a casket set to his exact measurements. Six feet. Sherlock felt the top of his head press against the panel as he tried to uncramp himself. It didn't really work. He tried pulling his wings in now that it had healed. One went in but the other became caught on torn satin. He pulled in harder, tugging at the strip coiled around three wing-points folded together underneath him. The anxiety was starting to creep in. "Mycroft! Where's that Secret Service of yours?" He put one hand on his forehead & pulled in a long slow breath...of thick heavy air. That's just great.

Mind Palace. Mind Palace. Got to stay in the Mind Palace where he was safe. Safe? Who was he kidding? He was in a coffin in the ground somewhere. No blood. No freedom. "Dear Christ, either get me out or let me die." The gurgling sound happened again. Mind Palace. Sherlock finally managed to forget his surroundings & slip in. He stayed longer than usual. He had to figure out two things. Why did Micah bury him? Where was he buried? He started to relax a little; though, his partly open stuck wing was beginning to annoy him. Those ridges were hard & sharp. His hands slowly slipped to the side.

He felt wet satin.

Sherlock half-pulled out of the Mind Palace. He passed his fingertips on both hands back & forth over the sleek material. It was definitely damp. Opening his wings had caused him to bleed, making his tiny bed all the more uncomfortable. He twitched his stuck wing but by now, it was firmly implanted in the layers of satin while at the same time managing to cause a hard ridge against his spine. Sherlock growled again.

He lay still & closed his eyes. He made a half-hearted attempt at his Mind Palace again but being tired from fighting his prison & the helpless enclosing feeling of anxiety that he ignored as best possible (which was failing more as time went on), he actually lapsed into a doze for several minutes. Sherlock woke up suddenly to the feeling of a wet cold underneath him. Something wasn't right. The blood should have clotted up the open wounds a bit. It should not have filled up the lower half of the coffin. Besides, he didn't feel weak or blood-starved enough to have lost that much & at the very least it should be lukewarm, not cold.

Sherlock fished around for his mobile light again & turned it on. Ice. The lid was lined with it around the cracks & it was wet. This wasn't blood. It was water. Sherlock passed his hand along the sheet of ice forming inside the lid then lay both arms to his sides, feeling around for the crack. His mobile lay on his chest, illuminating the confining space. He saw a drop of water seep in through the crack where the lid closed & trickle down past the thin ice. Sherlock cross-rolled his eyes shut. "Ah stupid. STUPID! The force of my wings splayed the edges." He put one hand on his forehead as if he had a headache.

Wait a minute, why was there water & ice? "Where am I?" Sherlock thought again that he was apparently in the one spot Mycroft would know about but would never look. What place in the whole wide universe would Mycroft know about but not care about enough to bother looking for him? Sherlock thought it over & re-assessed his deduction. Or, perhaps...cared too much about that it would kill him to come here? Sherlock remembered that gurgling sound. Water or a current of it, shifting about. He was under water. His car had flipped into the Thames...but the Thames wasn't this cold to freeze right now. Also with the splayed edges, he should have been able to force the lid open enough to swim out. Vampires were strong enough on a good day. Right now, driven by a terrible need to get out, he should have been able to blast out of here. He let his hands fall to the sides. There were several inches of water. He lifted his wet fingers to his lips to taste it. Sherlock's eyes went wide. No wonder he had no signal. He was miles down. Too far down. So that's why the lid wouldn't open. Not even a vampire could work against six thousand pounds of pressure per square inch. "OH NO YOU DIDN'T! YOU REALLY DIDN'T!" Sherlock suddenly realised exactly where he was. "Oh, you son of Dracula! I'll kill you Micah!" Sherlock huffed in frustration as he flipped his mobile forward to shine the light in his face. He stared at the empty screen & then for lack of something better to do, he played the one & only file Micah left him, mentally kicking himself for not playing it sooner as it would have answered one of his questions. Where was he? It played exactly what he knew it would play. He shut it off & tossed it down onto his stomach. Alright, fine. Can't do a thing about that. Might as well figure out the why of it now. He had nothing better to do but wait until Mycroft got a grip on himself & came down here to get him. He tried not to think of his imminent eternal drowning. Mycroft would come for him. He would!

Sherlock suddenly thought of Irene. She now knew what the Holmes family were. What if she went after any of them? Micah had planned it all perfectly. Sherlock knew his brothers & sister would be fine against a human girl, but it wouldn't be the first time Mycroft himself had tried to kill the woman. This time he would succeed. Micah was getting rid of all of them. The sooner Mycroft came here to get him out, the better. But why bury him? Sherlock huffed. There was something missing.

"Katie? Katie, where are you?" Irene all but flew into her house. She had several shopping bags in both hands.

"Mistress?" Katie came down the stairs wearing a long white skirt. He shoulders were covered with a royal blue shall but nothing else. The corners had been folded over into a loose knot between her breasts & acted like a low-cut shirt. Ordinarily, Irene would have been on her in moments but now, she was more concerned with locking the door & holding on to all the shopping bags at the same time. Katie pushed Irene away & locked the door. "What's wrong? I thought you were out on a job?"

"You have no idea what I've just been through!" Irene gasped. "Help me with these. Quickly."

"Uh-uh," Katie crossed her arms. "We've promised each other that if one of them ever hurt us, they'll regret it. Tell me what to do."

"Grab some of the bags," Irene was already making her way into the parlour with half of them. "Thomas didn't hurt me. He was a gentleman. We actually didn't do anything. I was tricked."

"What do you me—Mistress! This bag is packed full of garlic!" Katie stared into one & then another. "So is this one. They all are."

"Start lining the house with it. Doors. Window frames. Hurry! I'll explain later. Katie please! Just don't ask right now. Get to work!"

"Irene?"

"KATARINA NOW!" Irene looked up, meeting her partner's eye. Katie shut up. She had never seen Irene Adler in such a frenzy. She was terrified of something. What had spooked even the great Irene Adler out of her place? Katie set about laying garlic down around each room, door & window frame without another word.

After nearly an hour, the two of them sat down on the lounge in the parlour from where they had started. Somewhat tired, Katie laid her head on Irene's breast. "Why did we do that?"

"Sherlock's dead."

"WHAT?" Katie sat straight up. She knew that the detective had been Irene's favorite client. At least he had better be, seeing as how the sex was free with him.

"Well he should be by n—basement. Basement! Katie did you line the basement?"

"No."

Irene shot from her place & grabbed the last bag off the table. She made sure the others were empty, dumping the last few cloves out of them into her own & then disappeared. She all but jumped down the entire flight of stairs & spread the garlic around, stuffing the outside basement door with it so no vampire could sneak in that way. So she thought. Katie slowly followed down. She watched as Irene glanced around & grabbed a frame with shackles on it. She usually used it to tie down her clients but now, Katie watched in surprise as Irene smashed the beautiful mahogany frame with a garden brick she had brought in from outside. Irene pulled off two long thick splinters, about five feet each. She handed one to Katie. "Keep this with you at all times."

Katie held it in one hand & looked back at Irene. "Ok, this has gone far enough. You're scaring me."

"I'm sorry," Irene whispered, wiping a tear.

"Don't you remember how hard we both worked to get that frame? How expensive it was?"

"Let's go upstairs," Irene said. "I'll explain everything now."

"You had better!" Katie turned & stomped up stairs. Her Mistress had finally gone crazy.


	23. Chapter 23

**(23) Unable To Stay, Unwilling To Leave**

John trudged up the stairs to the front porch of Harriet's Cardiff home. The sun had set a while ago but Sherlock had yet to be found. As of now, they were on their own. The police weren't looking properly but Lestrade had insisted on helping so Mycroft blind-sided him, merely giving the force something to do. The Service was now useless, thinking they were now only looking for the dead...which wasn't to far from the truth.

John had been out digging around as well. He made sure he stayed out of Mycroft's & Sherrinford's way. He avoided Enola like the plague. But Sherlock just wasn't in any new grave. John flopped down on the couch, tired from the long day.

"Didn't find him yet?"

John looked up at the unfamiliar voice. He had forgotten all about Mary Morstan. "No," He leaned his head back over the edge of the couch's top & sighed. Mary sat down beside him as John began flexing his arms, bringing up his hand & then casting down as if tossing a yo-yo. He was sore. "He could be any where. Mary, it could be years before we find him."

"Harriet & Clara are in the backyard," Mary watched him stretch his muscles. She noticed something on his hands. "John what's this?" She caught one hand between her own & looked into the palm. "Where'd you get these ugly marks from?"

John sat up straighter, putting both hands together. The picture was back. "He said I could recall it." He whispered to himself.

"Recall what?" Mary tried to understand the picture etched in black lines as if burnt in.

John explained imprinting. "I don't know how to recall the picture. I wonder why it's back?"

"Probably because you were throwing your muscles around like that," Mary said. "Stretching out. In any case, it's disappearing again."

John let the thing disappear before flexing both arms again to see if it would come back. It did. "Huh, finally managed to control it."

"What it is? Doesn't look like any picture I've ever seen."

"Oh it's just Titanic," John shrugged. "Mycroft was on board it. He has one of it's rivets that I accidently touched. That's how I got this imprint."

With her left hand, Mary made a whooshing motion over her head. "What is that?"

"Titanic," John repeated.

Mary blinked. "You have this annoying habit of saying random words & thinking it would mean something to me."

"Oh come ON! Don't make me believe you don't know about Titanic!" John stared at her. "You know! Celine Dion? Near far my heart will go on? Good God you really are feral!" John got up & crossed the room. He opened a glass door cabinet full of DVD's & fished around for a while. When he found the one he was looking for, he turned back to Mary holding the cover out. "This right here."

"Never heard of it."

"It's a true story, kind of, Jack & Rose aren't real but the ship is," John said. "It happened in 1912."

"One problem," Mary pointed at the ship on the cover. "That certainly does not look like that." She indicated his palms.

"Oh, that's because it's all screwed up down there," John said. "It broke in what is now known to be three main parts & it landed backwards as well since part of it spun on its way down. Are you hungry?"

"A bit."

"Good, I know what we're doing this evening," John then proceeded to educate the wild mutt in all things 'Titanical' , starting with the movie & then switching to the Internet to show her a few real pictures of not only the ship but the crash zone under the North Atlantic ocean. Harry & Clara had walked in during the movie, snickered at John & went out for a date. After a few tries, he managed to bring forth his petite but accurate to scale Titanic imprint again. "Now do you see her?"

Mary stared at the picture for a while, then pointed out the bow & stern & a few other things. "What's this mass?"

"The missing third part," John answered. "It's crumpled. The third funnel is over the—what is that?"

"You don't know?"

John pointed at a spot on one hand. "This imprint isn't right. There's something new on here."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know," John shrugged. "It's just instinct. I can feel something's wrong here." He held the picture together, studying it for several minutes. "There's a tiny spot next to the third funnel; it shouldn't be there." He was amazed at just how well he could read this map but figured it was probably do to the kind of sorcery he seemed to have activated along with the lycanthropy.

"Do you know what it is?"

John stared at the picture a moment longer, then fold it together in prayer-form. "Hmm, Titanic is disintegrating. She has only fifty years to rust away if the dunes down there around the edge of the crater it made on impact don't bury her first in thirty years. It's probably a piece fallen off." He stretched a bit. "Good grief is that the time?" The clock said two in the morning.

"We've been at it all night."

"I'll let you bed down here I guess," John laughed sheepishly.

"Good idea," Mary glanced around. "Direct me to your room."

John stood up sharply. "Uh, I uh."

"You do not wish to mate?"

"Wha..I uh I."

"So you do then. I thought so," Mary snaked her hands around his neck & Frenched him senseless. Afterward, she asked again, "So? Where is it?"

"Um..."

"You can walk can't you?" Mary rubbed up against him like the minx she apparently was. "Or is it up so high you can't move? Feels pretty hard." She reached down & squeezed to prove her point. He jumped but she only smirked at him.

"Um I uh I …lots of people that is, use Titanic & romance in the same sentence."

"Oh gee, I wonder why?" She smiled up at him, eyes half-closed & golden. "Start walking...if you can."

Mutely accepting her dare, he moved towards his room. Once she got the general idea of where it was, Mary pushed him forward into his room. "Mary, I know how this can be. I'm the first guy you've probably known so..."

"Exactly," Mary said. "It's high time I killed that hymen of mine. Lie down."

"Yeah that's the point. You sure about this?"

"Are you protesting?"

"No, no of course not. I-I- I'm flattered," John gasped before going serious. "I just want to make sure I'm not raping you or...or something like that."

Mary stood before him & crossed her arms. "Considering how slow you seem to be, I think it'll be the other way around. Now," She shoved him on the bed. "Lie down. Stay there. Good boy."

John lay down hard enough to make sure he flipped right over to the other side & landed on his feet again. "Look Mary, you might like this now but what if you regret it later?"

Bored, Mary dramatically yawned & then loosed her hair. Stupid male dogs. Useless. Bitches were SO much better. He just needed to see that. She stretched her arms over her head & swaggered around. "Do you not think I'm attractive?"

"Oh yes," John admitted without thinking.

"Then I'm sure your heart will go on & on for a while as Titanic says," Mary was suddenly stripped completely & sat on his bed. "Coming?"

John blinked a few times. "Oh God yes!" He finally gave in. "Oh it's Celine Dion who says that, not the ship."

"Shut up!"

"Sorry," John tried to get on her but she was faster & stronger. She all but ground him through the bed-springs. It ended up being the shortest yet hardest encounter John had yet. The two of them were soon laying side-by-side. Mary was curled up in his arm with her head on his chest fast asleep. She had better be asleep after all the work she had done in short order. John lay awake, not believing what just happened. The climax itself comprised most of the time they had been together. It was the longest one he had yet. For a virgin she sure knew what to do. Or maybe she wasn't a virgin & just said that to seduce him. John rolled his eyes. Whatever. He smiled to himself as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Barely an hour & a half later, he sat bolt upright in bed. "That's it!"

Mary growled & stretched. "John you woke me up!"

"Sorry," John scrambled out of bed & turned on the light. "I know what...what the...extra spot on Titanic's map is." He had noticed some blood on his sheet. So she was a virgin.

"What is it?"

"Just asking but, how much do you know about sex?"

"Lots," Mary stretched again & lay down. "I have a whole library at home. Most of them are medical books to take care of myself. That stuff was in it to."

"Ah," John nodded, hopping into his trousers. "Well, anyway, I know what the spot is."

"Mhm, you sure do," Mary murmured, tossing her head back on the pillow to stare at the ceiling.

John paused a moment & smiled before saying, "I have to get to Mycroft."

"John it's still dark out," Mary said. "Can't you just call him?"

"Not for this," John shook his head. He did up the shirt buttons & reached for a jacket. "No, I need to be with him for this. He's really going to hurt."

"Why?"

John looked at her in silence for a moment. "I know where Sherlock is."

"That's good news. How can that hurt him?"

"Mycroft had adopted two daughters. They're dead. Seven years old. Sherlock's buried with them. Oh he's not going to like this. I have to go. Stay here. Go back to sleep. Maybe I'll have Sherlock with me when I get back."

"Alright," Mary sighed before purring, "I'll be waiting."

John paused to look over his shoulder at her. He half-smiled as he closed the door. He summoned a cab & headed for the Holmes estate. It was daylight by the time he got there. John hurried up the marble stairs, lined on either side with a 'railing' of trimmed hedges, to the wide-open balcony. He rang the doorbell & waited a few moments.

Anthea answered. She gave him a long hard 'just how bloody crazy &/or stupid are you' look before opening the door farther. "Why are you here?"

"I need to see Mycroft."

Anthea glanced back before stepping outside, crowding John back. "You know you're not very welcome here. Enola's here."

"I don't care about her," John insisted. "I need Mycroft. Now!"

"John," Anthea began. "He's grateful for your help looking for Sherlock but, coming to his home unannou—"

"I know where Sherlock is! Please Anthea. I must talk to Mycroft."

Anthea looked him over & finally nodded her head. She led him inside. John noticed several bodyguards about, waiting for a moment's notice from their Master. This was the modern world of the Holmes, not the dark bloodied immortal world. John made sure not to show his pointed teeth. He still needed to find out how to turn them flat when needed. Anthea led him up the stairs to the room where Enola had been when he had bitten her. It was Mycroft's master bedroom & filled along three walls with computers, cameras & other things for the Service. The far wall had a closed locked cabinet full of modern day weapons that would neither work on a vampire or was really needed by one. Mycroft was sitting at the main computer frame by the large bay window over-looking the horse pastures. John noticed a white horse, Serenity, being ridden by Enola in the corral, jumping over fences. Good, hopefully Enola will be out there a while.

"Master Holmes?" Anthea began. Mycroft looked up from the screen on which was a cemetery. A few people were there, digging up one grave. John recognised Abraham, the world-class man-bitch, who appeared to be yelling at someone. There was no sound but John could imagine Abe's booming Jamaican accent as he very obviously wielded the shovel in his hand at some poor soul unlucky enough to be near him. John smirked in spite of himself.

"Just what in the hell are you doing here, Watson?" Mycroft demanded.

"I need to speak with you."

"He knows where Sherlock is, so he said," Anthea said quickly.

"You do?" Mycroft stood up. "Out with it. Where is he?"

John glanced to Anthea. "I can take it from here. Please?"

Anthea caught Mycroft's nod. "I'll be just outside the door."

After she left, Mycroft asked again, "Well, where is he?"

"Right here," John put his palms together & pulled forth the imprint. "There's a new spot here."

Mycroft barely checked the picture. "That's the Titanic. Why are you bringing this up?"

John sighed & tried again. "I think deep down inside, you already knew this. Mycroft I'm sorry."

"Watson!"

"You told me, Micah would do anything to hurt you. Anything! You said that the worst thing he could do was put any one of you in a grave," John tried again. "But that last part isn't true. The worst thing he could do is this. You also said that Sherlock could be anywhere from here to Canada or any place in between. Where's the Titanic, Mycroft? Where is she? Exactly. Between. You knew then! Didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Mycroft glared in red.

"It isn't your fault," John said. "It was a physiological protection. You had people digging up cemeteries the world over, just in case. So you wouldn't have to face this pain again. But Sherlock isn't turning up, is he?"

"I'd stop talking right now if I were you!"

John ignored him. "This is exactly what Micah wants. Why, I don't know but he wants you to go down there. He put Sherlock right by the third funnel."

"No!"

"Mycroft, Sherlock's down there."

Mycroft's voice broke, "With them."

John knew Mycroft was not referring to the entire loss of Titanic. Just two children. "Yes with them. We must go. I'll go with you, if you want. You don't have to go alone."

"I can't go there!" Mycroft gasped between sobs. "I can never go there again!"

"He's your brother!" John shot back.

"Watson!" Mycroft turned away. "Leave. Now. Before I kill you."

John huffed. "Titanic is dead. She can't torment you again. Sherlock is there. He needs you. With my imprint you can find his exact spot, get him out & leave immediately."

Mycroft turned back to him, fangs bared. "I swear to God if the Watson's aren't the most impossible pack of Lycans ever! You know not where you tread, wolf."

"Yes, I do," John said quietly.

"Have you ever lost anything so precious?" Mycroft's voice was a dangerous low growl.

"Sherlock," John stated simply. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Like it or not, believe it or not, I actually do care about this family. Sherlock is my best friend & I can't stand this hate between us. All of us." He choked back a sob before going on. "Right now, Sherlock needs us. Right now, I've lost him again. This is the third time now! First Moriarty, then our fight & now the Titanic herself! Do you have any idea how much it scares me, knowing he's twelve thousand eight hundred some odd feet below the North Atlantic with that iron monster? How long can a coffin stand that pressure? Assuming Micah's told us the truth? What if he just tied Sherlock to a ball & tossed him down there? How much does a drowning hurt a vampire anyway?"

"...Watson..."

"I know you miss them," John looked up at the picture of Titanic in Southampton, Mycroft with two young girls standing on the dock beside it. "I'm sure this entire family does. Do you want to add Sherlock to the list of Titanic's victims?"

That seemed to bring Mycroft back to reality like nothing else. He barely whispered. "No..."

"Then let's go. Now," John glanced to the screen. "Call them home. They don't need to be disturbing actual dead folk. Let them rest in peace."

_(Yes I ripped off a Titanic Soundtrack title {# 8} No I don't care. I thought it was perfect. Mycroft can't stay locked up at home….no matter how unwilling he is to leave. Bite me.)_


	24. Chapter 24

**(24) Release**

Sherlock actually shivered. The water was starting to cover him now. It was in line with his temples. If it was cold enough to make even a vampire uncomfortable, he could only imagine what the actual humans had felt on board that ship lying just outside his coffin. "Come on Mycroft. You know where I am. Come on," He whispered to himself in a chant. A moment later, he thrashed around inside out of desperation. His stuck wing needed to be cut off & he envisioned turning his head around like an owl just to chew away at it so he can get his back off it. Of course, it didn't help his situation. He was a vampire not an owl anyway. Sherlock lay still for a moment, closing his eyes. It was getting rather cramped & cold in here. Dark. Silent. His mobile had conked out ages ago so he didn't even have that one song to listen to for lack of anything better. At least, it was a soothing song & the voice of Celine Dion was a voice from the world above. Now even that was gone.

That slow leak was annoying, drip ...drip...gurgle…drip...dri—Sherlock suddenly understood this method of torture. It had always eluded him before. Worse, it was his own fault for putting so much pressure with his wings on each side. Oh how he hated it! He decided he would murder a whole town to get his sanity back if he had to listen to that sound in this tiny space next to that iron corpse much longer. "Dammit Mycroft!" He punched the lid. "Hurry up!"

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Sherlock growled so ferociously that he heard ice crack with the vibrations of his baritone voice.

... ...Gurgle.

"FUCK! TITANIC! SHUT UP!" Sherlock pounded on one wall. Seriously, just squish flat already & get it over with, if only to be qui—gurgle—Sherlock snarled. "QUIET! I need to think!" Jack Dawson wasn't the only one thinking to write a threatening letter to the WhiteStar Line, Sherlock complained silently to himself. He tried to find his Mind Palace. He wanted to try to figure out why Micah had put him here. But he couldn't get into it for more than a moment. It was cold. The dripping water was pure mental torture. Titanic's intermittent chattering always seemed to push him back into reality at the worst of times. Thirty to fifty more years of this & he really would go crazy! The worst though was that he instinctively knew Mycroft wouldn't come here easily. Mycroft had never returned to the spot again. Sherlock's only hope was if Sherrinford or Enola thought about checking here first. He didn't relish deducing how long that would take. His coffin would be full within another day. This will be bad. Sherlock sighed, despite the air being thick now. It would be one of his few last breaths for a while.

Drip...drip...drip.

Gurgle.

Drip. Drip.

Sherlock shook his head at himself. He would not lie around waiting to be found. He couldn't handle thirty years of this, let alone fifty. He opened his eyes again. He suddenly knew what to do. He passed his hand over the wall, then dug in behind the satin to feel the ridges of vampire wings imbedded in the wall itself. If he could pry one out ... "Certainly not how I imagined going out," Sherlock muttered to himself. He clawed out more satin & stuffing to begin a search for a ridge to pull out. Water swished around his hands & splashed into his face. He merely shook it off. Sherlock realised that he had suddenly found his usual calm stoic self again, now that he had a plan in action.

John pulled his coat collar up closer to his face as he stared out over the grey ocean. The waves crashed against the bow of the 'Lucky Wing', Abraham's silver & blue ship. Abraham's only family around, his brother Mark, had been out in the middle of the Atlantic with a few friends when Mycroft had finally told Abraham where Sherlock was. John, Mycroft & Sherrinford had then flown out by helicopter & dropped in, letting Shawn Trevor, an Agent of the Service & a personal human bodyguard of Mycroft's, fly it back home on his own. Enola was the only one who didn't come. No one wanted her & John together, least of all John, so she was left at the estate with her mare. In fact, Sherrinford himself had only told her once they were already gone, simply to make sure that the two of them never even came close.

John shivered & went inside. He took the stairs down to the third of five decks & went up to the door of Mycroft's cabin. After knocking & waiting a moment without an answer, he opened the door a bit to look in.

Mycroft was sitting by the round porthole with his face in one hand. His crossed ankles were up on the table & his eyes were closed as if sleeping. John stepped inside. Mycroft opened one red eye. "What do you want?"

"We'll be there in a couple hours," John answered.

Mycroft merely grunted, closing his glaring demon-eye. John relaxed only a little. Mycroft lowered his hand. "I never came this way again."

John put his hands into his pockets to keep warm. "We're all here with you."

"Do you think that matters to me?" Both demon-eyes were now wide open & fixed firmly on John.

"We hope so."

Mycroft curled his lip enough to reveal his points. John got the message & said no more. "I will kill Micah myself for this."

"I think everyone here will want a chance at him," said John. "Even me."

"Get in line."

"I will." The two of them remained uncomfortably silent for a while before John decided to leave. He made his way to the bridge where Mark & Sherrinford were. Sherrinford merely scowled at him.

Mark however pulled John forward to the wheel. "Lucky for us we yalls out here," He said in an accent thick enough to match his brother's. "That's why this ship's called the Lucky Wing, 'cause it's Lucky. Especially when the ladies are on it!"

John just stared at him. Then he doubled over laughing. "Lucky indeed!"

"Aw don't laugh man! You should see the parties we throw on here!" Mark went on. "No vampire or dog rests on this ship. We can go all night long. You should come join us someday. Bring your lady with you!"

John put on hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Here they were, a ship for vampires & Lycans, out in the North Atlantic looking for Titanic of all things while talking about sex, yet all John could think of was Sherlock's retort at Buckingham Palace a few years ago, "Sex doesn't alarm me!" Right before stealing an ashtray, which he still had at 221B. Sherlock would love this.

Once John had composed himself, Sherrinford said, "I ordered a diving sub & winches. The helicopter should meet us there. The sub has a robotic arm. John & I will go down in the sub to grab hold of the casket & attach the cable."

John paled. Alone with Sherrinford in close quarters? "Is that a good idea?"

"How else do you plan to get him up, Merlin?" Sherrinford mocked.

"That isn't what I meant."

"Oh I know very well what you meant, wolf," Sherrinford snapped. "Point is I don't care. I need your imprint to find the exact spot immediately." Sherrinford slipped off his jacket & shirt. His wings drew out. "Unless you'd rather I cut your hands off & take them with me?"

John stared at the wings a moment. They were nearly see-through, nearly a fiery orange-red, like a Phoenix. He could only imagine what they would look like with light shining through them. Probably be impossible to look at. "I'll go down."

"I thought so," Sherrinford put them away. "Remember wolf, one bite. I'll have enough time to return the favor."

"I don't want to bite you Sherrinford."

"Good."

"Hey dudes! Seriously. Take it outside, boys," Mark warned.

The two culprits turned away from each other without another word. John went back outside to his original post near the front of the outer deck. He stayed well away from Sherrinford for as long as possible. Ignoring the cold air paid off as John soon noticed a pod of killer whales playing off the starboard side & continued to watch them until they went their separate ways.

All too soon, Lucky Wing was virtually parked where Titanic had last been above the surface & the sub was ready to go. John stalled by watching the helicopter leave, then looked down into the water at the broken ice floes floating about. Satisfied that there was no monster berg to take them out, he turned & reluctantly entered the sub after Sherrinford. He sat as far away as possible & pulled out a book to read. Miraculously, Sherrinford ignored him for the most part, only muttering an order or two to push some random button or help him steer the sub in the proper direction.

"Hey, snap out of it," Sherrinford smacked John's shoulder.

"Hmm?" John lifted his head from his book. One stuck page pulled away from his face. He had apparently been napping.

"Sherlock once said you're into this," Sherrinford nodded out the window. "See her?"

John looked out the window. He saw iron bars covered with material, sand & rust. Where was he again? He was still half-asl—John suddenly threw himself to the tiny window. Titanic reared up just outside in the beams of light cast from the sub. "Oh wow! Never thought I'd end up down here."

"I thought you didn't want to come along?" Sherrinford derided.

"Not with you," John turned away. "Not really no. I'm here for Sherlock. Not you."

"Mhm," Sherrinford muttered. "So the fact that I need your imprint doesn't matter?"

John just shrugged it off. "Ok so we're passing the...bow." He glanced out & so the tip where Jack & Rose where in the movie. "Alright right there." He let Sherrinford peer over his shoulder to see the imprint upright.

"Are you sure that spot is him?"

"It has to be," John said. "I know it wasn't there before. It's new. Besides, it's definitely something Micah would do."

"I have to agree with you there," Sherrinford muttered. "If it's just some debris fallen off though, I'm biting you."

John silently cursed Sherlock. He had better be there by that funnel or else! "Yeah yeah. Whatever."

They manoeuvred the sub forward without another word. It took another forty five minutes just to slowly creep around without losing their way or damaging the site any more than its natural decay would let it. Finally, they reached the spot marked in the imprint.

"I don't see anything," Sherrinford began.

"We're right above him."

"If he's here, he has to be close."

Sherlock stopped trying to prise out a ridge when he felt more than heard something other than the crushing gurgle of Titanic's death throes. Something vibrating. He kept one hand on the ridge that had come off barely enough to slip one finger inside. Suddenly, his casket flipped over to the side, then the lid, then over again to land flat once more. Sherlock's wing finally came free. He put it away before something else happened as he choked on seawater. Next moment, he realised that he had lost hold of the ridge he was working on. "Mycroft, that had better be you!"

"Don't twist it!" John yelped. "We just knocked something over."

"Titanic's crushing anyway," Sherrinford muttered. "I doubt no one will notice. I personally don't see the point in being careful. We need Sherlock!"

"I know we do," John agreed. "But wrecking the place won't help."

"I wasn't trying!" Sherrinford defended. He was about ready to sink his fangs into the mangy Lycan.

"Shine the beams on it," John said. "Maybe we can put it back."

"Are you crazy?" Sherrinford snapped. "That would make it worse."

John turned & did what he knew was the stupidest thing in his life he could ever do. He growled, baring teeth.

"Oh we're playing that game now are we?" Sherrinford stood up sharply, fangs bared as well.

"Beams. Now." John didn't back down. Sherrinford huffed but turned the outside light around. John smirked "God said let there be light, did He not?"

"I'm going to bite you once this is over, Watson," Sherrinford huffed. "Be sure of that."

"It'll all be over soon," John quoted a line of Titanic.

"You bet it will be," Sherrinford was as angry as a bee in a bonnet. Sherlock. Think of Sherlock. Him first. Mutt later.

The lights fell on an onyx casket. John smiled wider. "What was that about biting something? Your foot right? Since you shoved it so far in your mouth it's a wonder you didn't choke on it." Sherrinford made a rude hand sign but said nothing. "Real mature."

Sherlock felt his casket move again. The water sloshed back & forth. He was definitely moving. He had been found. It seemed like forever, but suddenly the light of an evening sun came pouring in. Mark, Sherrinford & John hovered around. He sat up at last & took a bottle of blood that Mark held out. He drank it down in one shot.

Next moment, Sherlock bolted from his prison & went to the front of the ship in a blink of an eye. His limp wings spread out & draped over either side of the railings. He half-stood, half-lay there gasping. Either he was finally out or this was his Mind Palace come undone to the cruelty of the drip.

Sherrinford whispered to Mark, "Get more blood. Now!"

When Mark returned with another bottle, John took it from him & brought it to Sherlock. "Here," He held it out. "Welcome back, mate." Sherlock tried to stop gasping. He took a long drink from the bottle. "I'm surprised that coffin didn't crush down there."

"Vampire wings," Sherlock said between drinks. "Cuts through almost anything. Even diamonds. But not the ridges of another. Line a coffin with ridges of our wings, nothing can really break it."

John glanced back at the open coffin. "That's beyond morbid."

Sherlock lowered the bottle. "It was my way out though. Had you not found me, I could have pried one off." He didn't need to say why.

"My imprint changed," John explained. "I'm able to call it out now." He did so again to show him but something wasn't right. John held up his palms. "It changed back. But a spot showed up there. I just knew it was you."

"You found me?" Sherlock asked.

John looked up from his palms & nodded. "Sherrinford & I went down there to get you. I saw the ship."

"At least you didn't have to listen to the damn thing," Sherlock complained. After a questioning look, he went on. "Titanic is crushing under pressure. About fifty years to go before she's truly gone. Unless the dunes moving in cover her first. Anyway, I could hear the crushing, slow as it is. Very annoying after several hours of it. Wait, how long was I down there?"

"Almost two days."

"Two days?" Sherlock turned away. He finished off the second bottle of blood. He turned back & headed down the side to help Sherrinford attach the sub to the ship to bring it back. John followed behind. Lucky Wing slowly started up again.

"Wait!"

Everyone turned to see Mycroft (Sherlock stared in surprise. So he did come after all!) running to the front of the outer deck. "Mark stop her! Wait!" Lucky Wing powered down.

Mark, Sherlock, John & Sherrinford made a point of double-checking the sub to be sure it was well attached. Ahead at the front of the bow, Mycroft stood with wings folded to one side, head bowed & eyes closed.

"He never healed, did he?" John stated. "Never moved on. He never did. Not until now."

"If ever," Sherrinford said. "I'll call the helicopter back to take us all home."

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not getting into anything small for a while. I'll just fly home myself when it's dark enough."

"Where will you land?" Sherrinford asked.

"Somewhere on London," answered Sherlock, quite literally meaning 'on'. "I'm heading back to the flat." John looked away but said nothing.

"I hate it when you do that," Sherrinford complained.

"I know it's risky in this modern world," Sherlock said. "I've done it before. In fact, Mycroft, Enola & I did that on John's first full moon, all night out there looking for him."

John looked up in surprise, unfortunately since he ended up catch Sherrinford's glare. The eldest Holmes huffed & crossed his arms. "Is there nothing you can't screw up, wolf?"

"Shane," Sherlock hushed him, using the first name.

"William," Sherrinford ignored the eye-roll. "Just be careful when you go off flying around."

Mycroft came to stand beside Sherrinford. He said so quietly that he was almost unheard, "We should go."

John stepped backwards away from the three of them as they suddenly formed a tight circle, enfolding the wings over each other. John felt like a third...fourth...wheel at the moment & tried to make himself inconspicuous.

Lucky Wing was soon chugging away from Titanic's final place, heading back for the coast. She would take a few days but the helicopter appeared just before dark for John, Mycroft & Sherrinford. Sherlock flew into the night a short time later. He wasn't quite going to the flat right away. He had a problem to fix first. A problem that had two days gained on him.

"You're nuts!"

"Katie, we are not having this conversation again," Irene sighed. "I know what I saw."

"That was the other day," Katie said. "Have you seen any of the other Holmes? Holmes you claim to be vampires as well? I would have thought they'd come after us since we know about them."

"Believe me, I've been watching," Irene said. 'Wouldn't be the first time Mycroft tried to kill me."

"Irene," Katie took a tentative step closer. "Mistress..." Another step closer. "I've went along with this, hoping you would eventually say that you were just playing. That you were joking. I'm sorry but...I just can't believe that vampi—"

There was a crash & the front door was thrown open. Sherlock stepped inside, pausing to glance down at all the garlic. "Really Woman? Garlic? How ...predictable."

"Katarina get behind me. NOW!" Irene didn't wait, but stepped in front of her, grabbing hold of the stake she had made.


	25. Chapter 25

**(25) The Simple Truth**

"Let me guess," Sherlock stepped in, kicking the door closed behind him while he kept both hands shoved into the pockets of his long black coat. "Wooden stake?" He & Irene shared a look. Irene was suddenly unsure. Sherlock tsked & with a quick shake of the few curls beginning to return, he laughed softly. "Fiction. Sorry."

"We'll see about that!" Irene gripped the stake harder, just in case he was lying. She heaved it him, aiming for the heart. Without waiting to see what happened, she quickly snatched up Katie's stake lying across the counter. She turned back only to see Sherlock in a leaned back pose, clutching the stake in one fist as if snatching an arrow out of the air. He let it fall to the floor.

Katie sighed & side-stepped away from Irene as Sherlock tossed his coat over the back of one chair. She noticed that he had no shirt underneath. He turned back to face the women. "Right, ok. I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way."

"I don't know what's gotten into her," Katie explained. "She thinks you're a—"

"I know very well what she thinks I am & she is correct," Sherlock unleashed his wings.

"OH MY GOD!" Katie screamed, ducking behind Irene.

"I told you!" Irene said. "He's a murderous creature from hell itself!"

Sherlock sighed. "If I wanted you dead, you would be by now. Do you have any idea how fast my kind are?" He defiantly held her gaze. "I can drain you of blood in three & a half seconds, then start on her."

Irene clutched the second stake more firmly. She'll let him come to her instead. "I'll not go down without a fight!"

"You won't go down at all," Sherlock replied. "I didn't come here to eat you. I have no need. How do you think blood banks came into existence? No one dies." He came closer to her, folding his wings behind him. "Can we please put this childishness aside & just talk now?"

Irene pressed the second stake to his chest. "Any love between us was never real. Micah told me how you creatures can charm someone."

"I never used that on you."

"So it's true?"

"Yes but not on you," Sherlock repeated, ignoring the stake.

"What use am I to you then?" Irene asked. "If not to feed on. What am I to you?"

Sherlock shook his head & looked down. "Sorry woman. Not at stake-point." He actually turned away from her & headed for the parlour. Irene watched the wings, which were nearly the same pale color as his eyes, suddenly disappear.

Katie, standing once again behind Irene, put her arms around Irene's waist as she sobbed quietly. "Mistress I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

Irene turned half-around to say as quietly as possible, "Go downstairs out the back door. I'll keep him busy." She glanced through the archway into the parlour but Sherlock seemed to be distracted.

"I won't leave you with that monster!"

"Katarina! You must! Go find Micah. He'll help us."

Katie thought about that for a moment, then softly kissed Irene's cheek. "Be careful!" She turned to make her way to the hallway stairs leading down.

Irene stepped into the parlour & watched as Sherlock stood by the fireplace & curled himself backwards a bit, cracking his back. "Coffins," He laughed. "Not fun. At all. Come sit down. Don't be afraid." Irene didn't go to him but sat on the nearest chair, stake still in hand. "Just listen to me. What harm can that do?" At Irene's short nod, he went on. "Oh but just wait a moment. You forgot something." In the blink of an eye, he had run off, faster than Irene ever saw a human run.

Irene stood up sharply as she heard Katie scream. "Katie! KATIE!"

"Now now, none of that," Sherlock hauled the woman into the parlour & held her in one hand. "Vampire hearing. Almost as good as a werewolf. Probably more like a Vulcan. John did call me Spock on more than one occasion."

"I swear to God, Sherlock Holmes!" Irene glared. "If you hurt her..."

"You'll what?" Sherlock scorned. "You need the ridge of another vampire's wing to kill me or a Lycan's bite. You have neither. What will you do?"

The two stared each other down. The stake in Irene's hand was shaking. Irene checked briefly over Katie. "Are you alright?" Katie merely nodded.

"Here, take her," Sherlock tossed Katie forward into Irene's arms. "I have no intention of hurting her, or you, unless either of you give me reason to. I'm just here to talk."

"Then start," Irene stuffed Katie in a corner behind her.

"For starters, Micah is a vampire older than I am," Sherlock began. "I'm over two thousand years. He's nearly five thousand." He watched as Irene finally dropped the stake in sheer fright. "We both managed to walk with Christ Himself. Still think that little twig of yours can do me harm? Or harm Micah?" At Irene's silence & Katie's muffled whimpers from behind her, he launched into a full explanation on just what kind of vampire he thought Micah was, ending with, "Every Holmes has been trying to get rid of that true monster for centuries. If you still want a shot at being a vampire killer, be my guest. Good luck with that. You can try killing Micah, or even me, with our blessings," He continued, his voice rising with each breath. "Blessings said over your grave seeing as how you won't get very far. We can't & we're actual vampires who know what we're doing. Yet a little human girl, such as yourself—a mortal, thinks to take on a world she could never hope to understand unless," He paused, looking Irene in the eye, then said in a soft voice, "she continues to trust me, as I recall asking you to do the other day."

Irene hesitated before asking. "What does Micah want with you?"

"My sister," Sherlock stated simply. "He's trying to force her to marry him. Why though I don't know. I don't think he cares about marrying her. She must have something he wants. Ah, I'm missing something still."

"Where were you then, if not destroyed?" Irene tried another question.

"Oh I was put in a coffin," Sherlock shrugged. "Vampires are actually quite claustrophobic. Micah buried me to keep the rest of my family busy. Again though, I'm not sure." He sighed before adding. "Yet."

"That's why graves were being dug up all over the place," Irene said. "It was on the news for a bit but abruptly ended."

"Mycroft works for the Service remember."

Irene's eyes went wide. "Is the whole government ruled by the undead?"

"Yes but they don't know that." At Irene's questioning glare, he added. "There's two governments. The one you know, mostly human. Then mine, the Undead Law. We mostly watch over the humans, believe it or not. We only step in if they screw up, like with Moriarty. He would have started a Third World War had the undead, as you put it, not taken over."

"So where were you anyway?" Irene changed the topic back to a less threatening subject.

Sherlock stepped forward to the two women who pressed more firmly, if possible, into their corner. He crouched down so as not to tower over them, but it didn't ease their fright. His gaze wandered back & forth over both of them for a few silent moments, flickering from red to blue as he concentrated. "Oh what of it," He mused to himself. "You're both females. Probably love it. Typical." Sherlock stood up. "Titanic."

Despite her fear, Katie looked up at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Hmm that's a bit of personal history in my family," Sherlock let out a breath glancing over towards the TV. It was sitting on a mahogany stand with a glass sliding door underneath. A few DVD's were set inside. He went over & looked through them. He came back & handed over the one he knew basically every woman had. "I usually don't speak of it for Mycroft's sake," Sherlock began as Irene took the DVD offered. Titanic. "However if I don't answer, I know you. You'll start digging. But Mycroft's upset enough as it is. I can't have you bothering him." Sherlock knelt on the floor in front of the women. They had momentarily come out a bit when the DVD was handed over but now, they shrank back into the corner even more than before. "Will you both relax?" He waited a moment before going on. "I was with the Titanic. Mycroft is, technically speaking, the last survivor of that ship."

"What?" Irene stared at him.

"We lost some human family on that ship," Sherlock went on. "Mycroft doesn't like talking about it so don't bother him. After what Micah just did to him these past two days, Mycroft is fit to be actually killed right now. Sherrinford is taking care of him. Keeping him quiet."

Irene gasped, standing up to lean against the wall. "Wow, this gets better & better."

"Nothing makes Micah happier than attacking my family until he gets what he wants," Sherlock said. "Nothing can hurt any of us, especially Mycroft, more than torturing us with that ship. The sooner I figure out exactly what Micah wants, the better."

"I doubt I'll listen to 'My Heart Will Go On' in the same way again," Irene said.

"If you wish," Sherlock didn't rightly care. "Will you come back to the flat with me? We have that case we're working on to finish."

"I already did," Irene said, watching Sherlock pick up his coat & put it on. "I found the child in the basement of the white house, just like you said he would be there. He's dead."

Sherlock paused mid-tying of a button. "I am sorry to hear that."

Irene wiped her eyes with a finger. "Oh it's all my fault."

"No it isn't," Sherlock finished his coat buttons. "You just never know who you'll end up with until you actually are with them."

"Uh yeah," Irene looked pointedly at Sherlock. "I never wanted that job in the first place. But when he threatened the child, I had no choice."

"Only to end up with not only a child sex offender but a murderer as well," Sherlock said. "It's amazing some women like the job you two actually do."

"I try to not take on such men," Irene defended. "I have a preference."

"Well, I hope some of us undead are included in that," Sherlock cast a glance at Katie still sitting on the floor, back to the corner. "Perhaps we could rearrange our sessions to once a month, at a certain time?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean? I'm a vampire." Sherlock was being serious. "Blood is blood, no matter where it comes from."

Irene glared at him. A few moments later, Sherlock hit the pavement outside at the bottom of the steps hard on his back. Irene had quite literally thrown him out. He groaned, slightly winded. "What? It was an honest offer!" Irene pulled her head inside the door & slammed it. "Alright, we'll talk later." He slowly picked himself up & brushed off. He knew Irene had been mad at him but couldn't quite understand why. He didn't put up a fight though. There was no point in hurting Irene or driving her away anymore then he already just did. Sherlock turned on his heel & headed for his flat.

As Sherlock got out of the cab he ended up taking to 221B, he noticed John sitting on the outside steps, waiting. John stood up. "I was in the bakery & saw you coming out of the cab." Sherlock merely put his hands into his pockets but said nothing. "I think I may have a case for you, about a feral Lycan, Mary Morstan."

"Feral?" Sherlock was suddenly more interested. "Where is she?"

"Uhh I," John scratched the back of his head. "I'm not sure. She spent the night with me, but now I can't fi—"

"You mated with a feral werewolf?" Sherlock interrupted. "Well no wonder you can't find the beast. You idiot!"

"Alright, Sherlock. You can't control my sex life. You're not my lover."

"I'm not trying to," Sherlock shook his head. "But feral wolves only mate when they're in heat. Happy father's day."

John blinked at him, looking rather like a curious owl. "What?"

"She's disappeared now until she gives birth," Sherlock explained. "Then you'll see her again, not to mention a few new faces. Lycans usually have twins."

"What?" John was apparently unaware that owls said 'who' not 'what'.

Sherlock only laughed at him. "You idiot."

"I think you've mentioned that already."

"And I'll keep mentioning it until it sinks in."

John glared at him, then smacked Sherlock over the head with the newspaper he had in hand. "What am I going to do with you?" He shook his head, ignoring the red glare. "Now here," John pulled out & handed over two sheets of paper. "That's all the info I have on this. I was hoping you could meet her but, well how long will she be gone anyway?"

"Same as a human, more or less," Sherlock took the papers. "Usually a bit less, around seven months perhaps."

"Great," John groused. "She was well—I mean—are you sure she'll have pups?"

"Without a doubt," Sherlock grinned at him.

"But well, she might not be experienced enough to know if she was in heat or not," John tried again. "Virgin. Perhaps maybe it didn't work."

"You of all people should know it just takes one time."

"That isn't what I meant," John sighed. "I mean since she's new & all, maybe she miscalculated."

"Nope," Sherlock was still smiling at him. "It would be pure instinct to mate at the right time for ferals, especially bitches. You're literally screwed."

John grumbled under breath. "I'm going back to Cardiff. Good night."

Sherlock waited until John had hailed a cab nearby & opened the door. "Goodnight John." The war doctor paused a moment to glance up at his one-time friend. When would he be allowed back? He nodded once & got in. Sherlock went upstairs to the flat, hanging his coat up on the hook. He smoothed out the front of what people on both his & John's blogs referred to as the 'purple shirt of sex' much to his annoyance as he crossed the room. Not bothering to turn the light on, he flipped himself flat onto the couch, Mary's case lying on his chest. After a moment, his gaze drifted to John's favorite chair.

Glowing red eyes watched him.


	26. Chapter 26

**(26) Dream Of Reality**

In a moment, Sherlock was on his feet, wings spread wide in defence. The papers floated to the floor. The intruder moved ever so slightly & a lamp switched on.

"Adrian?" Sherlock's wings drooped. "What do you want?"

"Enola's missing."

Sherlock's wings disappeared into his back a second before his focus disappeared into the Mind Palace. Mycroft waited. After a few minutes, Sherlock returned to the world of the living (well, technically speaking anyway). "So that's why he kidnapped me. Buried me not only deep but also far away. Distraction. Were you all out looking for me?"

Mycroft nodded, "Enola didn't come to ...when we pulled you up, she was at the estate."

"Was she left alone that time?" Sherlock also avoided mentioning Titanic.

Mycroft nodded. "It's because I brought John along. No one wanted those two together, least of all John & Enola. Plus we needed his imprint to find you. It all comes back to that damn wolf, William."

"John has nothing to do with Micah."

"Yet you no longer allow him to live with you," Mycroft pointed out. "You obviously mistrust him to, just like all of us."

"John has been a bad wolf," Sherlock defended. "I'm merely training him."

"You're letting him back?" Mycroft exclaimed. "How could...after all he's done?"

"After all Micah's done," Sherlock corrected.

"I will never understand you, Sherlock."

"If you still can't understand me after a few millennia, I suggest you give up trying," Sherlock retorted.

Mycroft headed for the door. "We need to find Enola. We'll do it without your help."

Sherlock dashed forward & blocked his brother's path. "Training John & searching for my sister are two different things. If anyone is to be left behind, Adrian, it's you. After what you did to all of us."

They glared red at each other. Mycroft finally shoved passed. "Why the fuck didn't I leave you with Titanic?"

Sherlock growled viciously under breath, then glanced down. "You made me rip apart my favorite shirt. Oh, the blogs for both John & I will run wild with this one!" He tossed the tattered 'purple shirt of sex' aside & hurried after Mycroft.

John flipped himself onto his back on top of his bed. One moment he had a silly grin on his face. The next, confusion, even a little anger. Then he randomly smiled again. He sat up. "Pups. Damn you Mary. What did you do?" He sighed. "Wait, what did I do?" He lay back again. Oh well. Hakuna Matata. There was a knock on his suite's door. "Yeah?"

Harriet entered & stepped in. "There was a package left for you." She handed over a brown paper-wrapped object. "Some old guy said you might want to borrow that for a bit."

"Borrow? What did he look like?"

"Well his hair's shoulder length, dark brown but the pure white roots can be seen for almost an inch now, so I think he's older than he looks. Dark blue eyes. Goatee."

"Oh that's Emrys," John said. "I can just leave this at Deadmoon Downs for him when I'm done I guess."

"Any idea what it is?" Harriet sat on the bed beside him.

John pushed the wrapping paper aside until it fell to the floor. "An old book." It was leather bound & inside, the yellowed papers were stiff. He carefully turned a few pages. There were various abstract angles & foreign lettering. One picture seemed to be a very long wand or staff, pointed at one end. The same picture was repeated in a series, but with things added to it. "You know, I think this might be a spell book."

"Spell book?"

John looked up at his sister. "Like for magic. Ever watch Harry Potter? Sheesh." He turned back to the book. "Only this would be a real thing."

"Oh it might have something to do with this imprinting you told me about," Harriet suddenly said.

"Most likely," John closed the book & laid it on the nightstand. "I'll look at it tomorrow. I'm finally starting to crash after today." He hesitated before adding. "Harry. I saw her."

"I know you did," Harriet laughed standing up to leave. "Clara & I could here you two going at each other. You definitely saw her."

John glared gold at her. "Titanic, Harry. Titanic. I was down there looking for Sherlock by the third funnel. I saw her!"

Harriet stared at him, agape. "Wow! No wonder you can't sleep. That must have been something for you."

"Ohhh yeah!" John actually shuddered. "Hang on, you heard me with Mary?"

"I think most of England could," Harriet snickered as she left. John growled. No vampire was around to tell him off, so he bloody well growled because he felt like it. So there! Harriet opened the door a bit to say. "Bad Lycan manners." She slammed it shut & John heard her running away. John threw a pillow at the door before lying down. However, a minute later, he got up, stomped over & snatched the thing back. He curled it under his head, huffing.

About an hour later, John sat bolt upright in bed, awakened from a sound sleep. He turned the lamp on & picked up the old spell book again. He looked again at the foreign words & found he could somehow recognise some of it. Latin. Of course. Being a doctor he knew quite a few terms for it, all medical though, but it should help.

John went back to the start of that strange picture, then began flipping through the pages as fast as he could while being as gentle as possible. It was similar to watching a drawn cartoon take place. John finally found the finished product seven pages later. It was fully formed now, looking a bit like a cross with spells apparently added to it, written in Latin. John decided to search for the actual words he couldn't understand on the computer later. At the moment, he did know that he was probably looking at the description for the most fabled mystical weapon in existence. He stared at it a moment longer, then continued looking through the pages, checking other pictures.

In the back, there was a loose modern day piece of paper. John opened up a small map. He looked at it for a moment, then got up to put it in the pocket of his jacket. He sat on the bed again, flipping back to the completed picture. He noticed on the bottom left hand corner were three dark red-black drops. Instinct told him that they were blood. The three drops were inside the picture of a heart, an actual heart, not the child's drawing of one. It was very detailed, complete with the valves. The heart was drawn in the chest of a dog picture drawn over the whole thing. Or a wolf. A Lycan? On the right hand bottom side was a smaller picture. John couldn't quite make out what it was; though, it looked to be a pile of something, perhaps dust or...or ash maybe.

John laid the book aside & sat cross-legged on the bed, gripping the edge he was sitting on with his hands on either side. He stared ahead at the open closet where his jacket hung, map in the pocket. He suddenly knew exactly who Emrys was. He also knew what Emrys was. But the worst thing was, John realised he not only now knew where a lost historic relic lay but also that Emrys had known the exact same things he did. In fact, John & Emrys were the only ones with the same secrets at the moment. John wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Why did Emrys share this with him? John sighed & got up to retrieve his laptop. He began deciphering the Latin one spell at a time.

"HAMISH!" Harriet burst into his room. "HAMISH! WAKE UP! COME QUICK!"

"Hmm?" John unstuck his face from the keyboard. "Wha..?"

"Come now!" Harriet was already grabbing him. John barely managed to push his laptop to the side on his bed before it fell to the floor. Looking at the window, it was daylight the next morning. "It's all over the news!" His sister hauled him forward into the main living room. Clara was standing in the middle of the floor, staring in shock at the screen.

John blinked his sleep away & stared.

"In Wycoller Village," a woman was reporting. "What appears to be a gruesome murder is now turning into a horror story. Enola Holmes, sister of Britain's famous Detective Sherlock Holmes, was apparently crucified & then set on fire."

"What?" John was suddenly wide awake.

"Images of the horrific attack was caught on film by a passerby but are not being released due to the brutality of this crime," the reporter went on. "She is apparently still alive as we speak."

John grunted. Clara stared at him. "Well she doesn't know what Enola is. Vampires can't die by fire. Right?"

"She will, unfortunately, be fine," John shrugged as if not caring.

"I can't even begin to imagine the pain she's in!" Clara continued to stare at him.

"Eh, tell someone who cares," John wasn't that person. "Sherlock wi—what did you say?"

"You really don't like her, do you?"

"Feeling's mutual," John admitted. "But what did you say before? About the reporter?"

"She wouldn't know Enola's a vampire?"

John's jaw dropped. "My God! Micah's going to expose the Holmes family!" Without another word, John dashed away into his suite. He looked at his last search that he had fallen asleep on to make sure he understood it all. He grabbed the ancient spell book & ran back out, heading for the main door. "I have to go."

"John?" Clara began.

"Where?" Harriet asked.

"There," John pointed to the screen. "I'll be back." He hurried outside, pulling out his mobile in one hand. He had a major problem. He was in Cardiff whereas Wycoller was far northeast in the Lancashire. Wycoller itself was nearby Leeds. He had to get up there. Now! "Anthea? I need your help like nothing else. I know about Enola. I know how to stop this. Please!" John cut in at any chance. He had to get that woman to see reason.

"If I do, Master Holmes will go even more crazy!" Anthea tried explaining.

"Anthea," Sherlock had glided up behind her. She whirled around, putting the mobile down to her shoulder. "Is that John?" When she nodded, he added. "Do not tell Mycroft. I'll handle him. Warn John. Micah will be there." Sherlock left without another word.

His two elder brothers had gone out earlier & were by now heading to Wycoller. Sherlock went behind the estate to where three helipads were, two of which were occupied. One of Mycroft's security guards followed behind & got into the co-pilot side while Sherlock took main control. As they took off, Sherlock noticed two more pilots heading for the second helicopter. They were to pick up John & then land outside of Wycoller.

Once landed, Sherlock sent his partner away. The Agent insisted on going forward with him but Sherlock stubbornly ordered the man away. This was the realm of the vampire & the human was neither needed or wanted when the Undead Law took over. The man finally flew away to nearby Leeds. Sherlock turned & ran through the fields lined with gravestone markers around their borders. Hawthorn trees twisted upwards in gnarly shapes. Sherlock dodged each one & easily vaulted over the gravestone borders.

He knew the area all to well. Wycoller was ancient, since the tenth century BC. This was his childhood home. Apart from the dilapidated buildings, overgrown walls & a few new places back in the main village, he could still recognise the area itself as familiar. As he neared the ruins of Wycoller, he could hear Enola screaming for death. Sherlock ran past another crooked hawthorn & skidded to a halt. He knew such screams all to well & cast an unsure glance at the rise of the hill, knowing what he would see once he was over it. He heard other shouts as if a fight was happening. Sherlock closed his eyes, found that spot where he buried everything but the pure ice of a dead soul & headed forward again. He made for the Clapper Bridge but before he got close, Sherlock was broadsided from the left & went down flat on his face.

"Mycroft has him engaged," Sherrinford's voice whispered. "I'll help him. Get our sister off that cross & get out of here." Sherlock nodded, still slightly winded. The pair slowly sat up, Sherlock looking ahead across the bridge towards their sister. Enola was nailed to a cross in a rebuilt section of the Wycoller Hall; the fireplace.

Sherlock shared a look with his eldest brother. "Did Mycroft silence the broadcast when the announcement first aired?"

"Yes," Sherrinford nodded. "But some film did get out."

Sherlock sighed. "We'll deal with it later. Let's go."

At a nod, Sherlock went over the bridge towards where Mycroft & Micah engaged in a fight, both with wings spread out. He saw Irene off to the side being held roughly by two of Micah's friends while Enola blazed, dead center of the fireplace, in the clearing behind the group & headed for her.

Sherrinford soon followed, casting a look towards the struggling Irene. He skirted around overgrown ruins to come up from behind. Before charging in, Sherrinford closed his eyes for a moment. Then, wingspread, he charged forward. He skewered the one on Irene's right, then in one fluid movement, pulled his wing right out & spun around, destroying the second man. Sherrinford pushed upwards through the heart. The man arched his back & then went still. He turned grey black as if he was a stone statue, then shattered like glass into a pile of ash. The wind took care of that as Irene whirled around, ending up in Sherrinford's waiting arm. He yanked her back even more as the two went through a tall rectangular opening in the stone wall along the far side of the fireplace & ducked out of sight.

"Thanks," Irene whispered.

"Any time," Sherrinford whispered back. He stood up to check on Micah & Mycroft still engaged, then glanced around. "I can't believe I'm here again."

"You know this place?"

"We Holmes are over two thousand years old," Sherrinford explained. "This village used to be our home. Our parents, while still human, were burned outside this very village. Hence why Micah chose this place to torture us all & expose us."

"This was your home?" Irene echoed.

"Mhm. Stay here," Sherrinford handed her a long sword. "That's a vampire ridge from my right wing. Just hang on to it in case any vampire other than a Holmes come after you. There are more about. I can sense them. Aim for the heart."

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"I have to help Adrian. Stay down!" Sherrinford vaulted back through the opening & into the fray stirred up by Micah & Mycroft clashing wings together, trying to bring each other down.

The air shuddered as another helicopter went by. Leaving the book on his seat, John hit the ground running. He crested the hill & saw Micah against the two older Holmes brothers. Looking out farther, he noticed Sherlock at the cross, using his wings to cut Enola down. He caught on fire more often than not & had to stop to pat the flames out. He then returned to slashing the chain that bound her even more furiously before. Slash. Burn. Pat out. He finally had his sister lying on the ground. She was bright orange with fire. Sherlock rolled her over & over, throwing his coat he had previously tossed on the ground tightly over her body. He slowly but surely managed to put her out. Enola should have been dead. She was nothing but a charred corpse. Yet she still breathed. She still felt the anguish of the flames.

Sherlock put both hands over her blackened face. "Let it heal. It's over. Let it heal."

The place was now the main stage for the vicious fight between Micah, Sherrinford & Mycroft. He heard someone come up from behind. "Well well if it isn't the Watson Were. Time to finish what your family started."

One of Micah's men no doubt. John didn't look back but instead bolted across the twin-arched Pack-horse Bridge like a startled deer. He weaved himself through the group & headed passed the charred cross & through a field. John knew exactly where to go. He had studied the little map from the spell book, a complete layout of the area, on the way here.

The man gave chase. John knew was being hunted by someone trying to kill him. He had to get out of here. John plunged on ahead & around a corner. The beck wound its way along the ground, passing between a few large boulders. It had seven different bridges crossing it altogether. John ripped back & forth over them as he came to yet another, trying to throw off his pursuer. He crashed through a thicket of warped hawthorn trees & came out into a grassy glade that the stream went around & emptied into a lochan. Here, he paused for breath. He looked back, unbelieving of what had happened. He seemed to have lost his pursuer for now.

Sherlock stood up from Enola to check on his brothers. They had driven Micah back. Both held there wings high. The wings trembled with sheer hate. Micah was backed up against an old stone wall. Irene suddenly jumped up & held a ridge to Micah's back. "DON'T ...move!"

Micah stood stiff as Sherrinford advanced on him. "What the hell are you doing with our sister?"

"I need the ash of a vampire from this area."

"Why?"

"If I told you, you'd kill me."

"We're going to kill you anyway," Mycroft glared.

Micah half-smiled. He still felt Irene's ridge in his back. The only thing stopping her from shoving it in was Sherrinford's subtle headshake. He seemed to need information first. Well, Micah wasn't about to give it & the best way to escape Irene's death touch was forward. He looked at Mycroft. "By the way, last time I checked, all of Titanic's survivors are now dead. I suggest you join them." At that, he shot forward thrusting out a wing. Mycroft's eyes went wide.

"ADRIAN!" Sherlock called out, running forward. His voice echoed over the whole area he had screamed so loud. He was yanked around so hard by his arm that he fell to his knees at Sherrinford's feet. They shared a look, Sherlock trying to say something but was unable to find the words. What could he say? What could anyone say? They heard something like glass shatter. Mycroft was destroyed. Sherrinford grabbed his younger brother's head to his own body for a moment. Never more were they to walk with their brother. Never more. Nearly three thousand years left a hole to big to fill.

Shaking so much she could hardly hold the sword-like ridge in her hands, Irene turned away & slid down the wall, back towards it. She put both hands over her mouth. Mycroft? Dead? That was not possible! But the ash floating over her head told her otherwise. Mycroft was gone. Irene felt strange. While he had hired her once, he had also later tried to behead her. Irene pushed her hands back into her hair. Mycroft was dead for good. It just wasn't real!

Ash floated down to him on the wind. John held a hand out, letting a few pieces slip through his fingers. "Mycroft?" He had heard Sherlock calling out to his brother. The ash had to be Mycroft. John lowered his hand. Mycroft was gone? That couldn't be right. At all. Still looking back, John began moving again. He tripped over something & fell down hard.

John rubbed his sore foot & then glared at the stump of metal sticking up from the ground. He quickly dug around it, thinking to dislodge the offensive obtrusion so no one else will ever trip on it again. At the same time, he wondered why he was wasting time on the offensive thing instead of running away & hiding as per his original plan. It was a metal rod jammed into the ground, links of chain & a bit of a shackle left over came out. John stared at it a moment & then put a hand on them to pull it all out of the impression he had made in the ground.

Heat. Screams of pain. Screams sent out to someone standing in front of them. Scent of roasting flesh. Utter terror.

John dropped it & scooted back. He quickly glanced around what once looked like a pleasant grassy knoll. Now he understood. He had dreamed this. A glimpse into the future. He checked his hands for the imprint & sure enough, two stakes on fire were now burned into his palms. He got up & began moving again. He suddenly went down as the ground opened up underneath his feet & swallowed him. John went straight down until he slid on his front. With a canine yelp of surprise, he landed hard flat on his stomach in shallow water.

"Ok that didn't happen in the dream," He muttered, lying in the cool soft mud for a moment to recover. He slowly got up to his knees & glanced around. He was at the stream again, only it had run underground. He glanced up at the big hole above him. It would be hard, but not impossible to climb out on the other side of the water. Several roots of trees hung down to grab on to where the earth sloped upwards. Expectantly, John looked into the water. "There you are." Something glinted in the water. Shiny & golden. "Let's see what you are."

John dug down until the water went up his arms all the way to his shoulders. The object was long but he half-expected that. Finally, he decided to try pulling on the thing. He moved over into the murky water & knelt down. John heaved up with all his might. He eventually toppled backwards. After sitting up, John looked at the thing in his hands, hardly believing he of all people, was holding it.

It was a very long sword, about half his height. The blade itself was wide, flat on either side but the center from hilt to point was round as if the blade had been built around a rod. The sword had a name written across its hilt. John sighed, glancing upwards. He would have to heave it up there. He crawled over to the roots & lifted the sword up in both hands. He laid it across two roots above his head, intending to climb up & then reach back & drag it up with him. John slowly inched himself across the mud & started to climb. Whatever he grabbed wasn't a root but a stick wedged in. It came out & John slipped down. The sword came down, point first, hitting his chest. John's eyes went wide as the point cut in deep.

"No NO! Don't start the spell now!" John grabbed the blade to push it back. He sat back, trying to slow his breathing as he clutched the wound with one hand. It would heal soon enough. He was sure the tip had scratched his heart. Amazingly, it didn't hurt. John wondered if that was due to his healing or the fact that the blood drawn activated an ancient enchantment on the blade. Either way, John watched the tip literally soak up the blood. It was soon clean again. With another sigh, John felt his chest close up. "Great now I have no time to explain to Sherlock first. Oh he'll be mad. Oh well." He grabbed the blade & just threw the damn thing out of the hole. He was running out of time now. The book had said once activated, it needed to be finished within a few moments or it wouldn't work. He clamoured up beside it. Once he stood up, he was assaulted by the one following him. John huffed & punched the man square on the nose, breaking it. The man fell over backwards, down the hole. John barely heard the splash or the angry bark from Micah's Lycan, as he snatched the blade by the hilt & ran as carefully as he could.

"William, go back to your sister," Sherrinford ordered, pushing his youngest brother back behind him to keep him safe. Sherlock didn't answer but did as he was told. He saw the ash—Mycroft, what was left of him—float away. "You will die for this." Sherrinford took one step forward. Someone came bounding up behind Micah, carrying a long heavy blade.

"John no!" Sherlock yelled. "You can't kill a vampire with..." He shut up as the blade went through Micah from back to front, the heart stuck on the tip of it. Sherrinford leaped backwards to avoid getting speared as well. Micah only stared at nothing. He suddenly turned hard as stone for a moment, then shattered, sending his ashes every which way. Sherlock's eyebrows landed into his hairline in surprise.

John held the sword up as it went black with ash, soaking it in before turning back to its usual silver color with gold hilt. The rock-hard heart fell off & shattered at his feet. "Sherlock trust me! I have no time to explain!"

"Explain what?" Sherlock asked as John ran past.

"No time! Just TRUST me!" John headed for Enola still lying on the ground, resting from her ordeal. She wore nothing but Sherlock's usual long black coat draped over her. John pulled it back, exposing the breasts but that was the last thin he was looking at. He put the tip of the sword to her wound & drove it down into the ground beneath her. Enola arched her back against the blade, her mouth open to scream but no sound came out.

"JOHN!" Sherrinford & Sherlock cried out in one voice, staring helplessly at their sister, unable to believe that they would lose not one but two of their family in one day.


	27. Chapter 27

**(27) An Old Friend**

_**Two weeks later**_

John closed the back door of the blue & green car, turned & leaned back against the side to wait. The sword's handle stuck out a little above his head. It was wrapped in brown material & lay diagonally across John's back, from his left shoulder blade to his right hip. He watched as Sherlock held the door leading into the ancient castle open. The full moon had recently passed & John was heading back to his Cardiff home. Sherrinford came out next, carrying a white suitcase. He placed it on the lowest step & watched as Enola emerged, wearing a long dark green velvet dress. Her shoulders were bare save for her free-falling hair. A simple gold necklace, baring a heart-shaped sapphire graced her neck, a close replica of Celine Dion's necklace from Titanic; though much smaller. John admitted to himself that Enola was beautiful to behold. They simply could not stand each other. Even now.

Enola sighed, flicking her hair back from her shoulders with both hands & turned back to her brothers. "I'll miss this place."

"You can visit any time you want," Sherlock said.

"Or you can, I don't know, stay?"

"It doesn't feel right, staying here I mean, the way I am right now," Enola said. "Besides, I can't have either of you chewing on my neck in my sleep." She teased, earning glares. Both brothers went on the defensive, claiming they would never do that...in like…ever! Oh but if she ever got hurt, perhaps they could lick her wounds. "I'll visit. Don't worry!" Enola finally shut them up.

"Can I just have a nibble?" Sherrinford smiled, eyes flickered red.

Enola glared. "Bite me!"

"Don't mind if I do."

"Shane!" Enola's shoulders sagged with frustration.

"So what will you do?" He innocently (yeah right) changed the subject.

Enola rolled her eyes. "Well I'm moving into Adrian's estate & I'll just take it from there I guess," She shrugged before going on. "I've been stuck in a young body for almost three millennia. It's time I grew up a little."

"Enola, if you ever want to change back, just ask," Sherlock said.

"I've thought about it," Enola said. "I don't know. I want to grow up a little. Maybe even get old & die. I don't know yet. I do know one thing though."

"What would that be?" Sherrinford grated out, not happy to hear the 'old & die' thing at all.

"Well, I'm the last…how to put this delicately? Living Holmes," Enola laughed softly. "I can carry our bloodline forward again. I've always wanted children." The brothers shared a look. Mycroft wanted children & got them, right before losing them to a doomed ship.

Sherlock picked up the white case as he stepped past. "We should get going."

Sherrinford watched Sherlock get in the car into the driver's seat, then turned to his sister. "Maybe when you're older, one of us could change you."

"Maybe," Enola hugged him before getting into the car herself.

Sherrinford pulled John aside. "How's Will doing?"

"Well, he has a human sister again," John shrugged. "A one use only cure for vampirism. How does anyone of your kind do after that?"

"I meant Irene," Sherrinford corrected.

John sighed. "I don't think she exists for him right now. Irene said she wanted to step back a bit. Take a break. But that was it. She's gone. I think she's had her fill for now. Actually, I think I'm the one that caused her to leave."

"How so?"

"After Enola was cured, I went over the wall to get Irene," John explained. "She thought I was vampire as well but I mentioned off-hand I was Lycan... I managed to get her away & then the next day, we find out she took Katie & just…left. The country. The continent. I don't know where but...she's gone."

"This life isn't for everyone," Sherrinford muttered.

"I only wish I could join her, really," John half-retorted as he finally got into the car. Sherrinford watched it drive away until it rounded a bend & out of sight. The castle suddenly seemed large & empty.

John sat in the back, laying the sword across his lap as Sherlock & Enola in front talked in a mix of their native language & modern English. John recorded it all to study later, not to spy on their conversation but the pair were probably the only two of three, including Sherrinford, who actually spoke the dead language. The drive lasted for almost an hour until Sherlock pulled up next to a helipad. Enola got out to take a helicopter from there to the estate. John moved to the front seat, leaving the sword on the back seat.

Sherlock drove in silence for a while. John lay back in his seat. He didn't mind. The two of them had almost returned to normal by now. John was still not at the flat but neither was Sherlock. After word had gotten out about vampires & worse, the great detective being one over two thousand years old, Sherlock had retreated to the old castle. Lestrade had called him several times begging him to return. He was fascinated by the mere notion of having such a being working for him. Mrs. Hudson begged & pleaded, eventually having to settle with 'keeping the flat ready' for now.

John knew better. Sherlock & Sherrinford needed each other. Mycroft was gone. Enola was in a sense, gone as well. Sherlock had turned from solving cases to raising honeybees. In fact, there were now about a dozen hives back at the castle.

"Is there any way to recreate the cure?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"I have no idea," John said. "The spell had been set up a long time ago but never used. I was needed to complete it since a Watson had taken command of it long ago by wounding Enola. Fortunately, he didn't activate the actual spell with her ash...or his own blood."

"Emrys gave you the book so you could finish it. Properly. That's why Micah wanted to be there," Sherlock huffed. "He knew Excalibur was there. But he never got a chance to look for it since we all showed up. He said he needed vampire ash from the area."

"Once activated, the spell had to be used almost immediately," John said.

"About that," Sherlock actually glared red at him for a moment before looking back at the road. "Never do something that takes to long to explain without telling me first. You do know you nearly died that day, right? Shane & I wanted your blood. You're lucky Enola healed as fast as she did."

"I know, I'm sorry," John laughed.

Sherlock stopped at a red light. He pulled a flat tin can out of his pocket & opened it. "Honey comb?"

"Why not?" John snatched it up.

Sherlock scoffed at him. "I can't believe there was a cure for vampirism & Enola almost became part of that spell. That's why Micah wanted her. He pretended to be in love with her just to get close to her but that didn't work out to well. So he tried marriage to force her to go to him."

"Then when that fell through," John added. "He charmed my ancestor into trying to turn her to ash," John said. "Why she didn't I don't know."

"He didn't get down to her heart in time," Sherlock said. "We three brothers were nearby & heard her screaming. That wolf was dead before the blade got any farther. We didn't know what to do with Excalibur but a few months later someone came to collect it & we never saw it again. Until now."

"Then you went after the rest of my pack not realising Micah would try to finish a job he started," John said quietly. Sherlock only nodded a silent agreement. John hesitated before adding, "While running across the field to Excalibur I, uh well, I tripped over something. Metal. Chain. It gave me an imprint of...never mind. I don't know why I started telling you at all."

"Wycoller was our summer home," Sherlock began. "Our parents stayed there or at the castle most of the time, while we grew up & went our own ways." He drove for several minutes before finishing, "They were executed there. Was it them?" John nodded. Sherlock went on. "None of us went back to that place these past millennia. Micah did everything to upset us, especially Adrian. They had personal hate between them since Adrian destroyed most of Micah's family & helped stopped his first attempt at using the cure for himself."

"Titanic. Your native village," John said. "What will you do now that the world knows about vampires?"

"The world has always known, John," Sherlock said. "Exposures have happened before. When that happens, we usually just go into seclusion for a few centuries. Let everything fall into legend."

"That's why you're not going back to 221B. Or Lestrade."

Sherlock drove longer without saying anything. "John, I don't think we can come back this time at all. This modern age will be hard to send into legend. Enola's burning cross was caught on camera. So was the fight with Micah & my brothers, all wings open. Everyone knows. We...we can't come back this time. Not from this."

John felt a chill run through him. Never go back to 221B? No more cases? Nothing...normal? "Or you can use the modern age to your advantage," John tried. "Think of what you can do. Now that people know you're vampire, a mere look should drive them aw—oh right, you do that already."

Sherlock laughed in spite of it all. "It would be dangerous for everyone. Do you know how many people would want to kill me?"

"They can't do it without the proper weapons," John shrugged.

"Which won't be hard to come by," Sherlock said. "Not all vampires or Lycans are good as you know. They'll pair up with human vampire hunters for a bit, give them the secrets & then eventually turn around & feed on the humans. A lot of people will die, in all three species. The world will descend into anarchy for sure."

John sighed wondering if he should ask. "Will I see you again?"

"Yes, you're one of us."

"That's not quite what I mean." John shook his head.

"You have always been my only friend John," Sherlock said. "well in this modern age anyway. You are however a pup in need of training. A lot of training."

John smiled at that. Finally. Sherlock was no longer mad at him. He suddenly thought of something. "Sherlock, where does Emrys live?"

"Somewhere in Reading."

"Let's go see him. I have two things I need to return to him."

Sherlock turned into a driveway leading to an ivy-covered two-level cottage set back from the road a few hours later. He got out & waited as John picked up the old sorcery book, then drew out the sword.

"You don't have to carry that thing everywhere you know," Sherlock said.

"I know," John replied, laying the thing across his back, strap going across his chest. "But I need it for something." They went to the door, John stepping ahead to knock. When it opened, John held out the spell book. "I believe this is yours."

Emrys took one look at the book, then the part of the covered sword over John's head. "Do come in." He let them both in & made them sit down in the living room. "You think this is mine?" He asked lightly, excited over the book.

John handed it over. "Yes." As Emrys glanced through it, John went on. "I also think I know who you are & what you are. I just don't know why you did what you did...to this." John handed over the sword. "Care to enlighten us...Merlin?"

Sherlock stared at John. "Do you honestly think th—"

"No. I KNOW he is Merlin," John looked back at the old man. "I did some research on the old wizard. Some of it modern, like you thinking ice cream & helicopters are the best inventions. Some of it ancient, like how you tend to look at things in a strange way. You don't really look at anything or anyone do you? Your book has symbols either slightly raised or hollowed into the thick pages so that they can all be felt. Merlin was blind at the age of twelve. You use magic to see things instead, don't you?" Fascinated by the doctor's sudden knack for deducing things, Sherlock raised one brow, staring at John. "Also, Merlin is just part of a name, as is Emrys."

"Something like that," Emrys—Merlin—laid the book aside & took the sword. He pulled it out of the cover. "Excalibur. Why ...oh my old friend! You did find it! I knew you would."

"That thing killed a vampire," John went on. "The center of it is round. A vampire ridge. Clever disguise. I suppose King Arthur had vampire enemies he didn't even know about."

"Sadly yes," Merlin agreed. "There will always be a bad vampire tarnishing our reputation."

"I guess you're missing a wing ridge?" John went on.

"Well not anymore," Merlin said. "We do heal you know."

"Oh right," John felt like kicking himself. "But that ridge is yours though?"

"Yeah, Excalibur is of me," Merlin passed his hand up & down the blade.

John leaned forward slightly. "You not just any vampire either. You're the first." It wasn't a question. Sherlock continued to stare at him in shock, but was ignored.

Merlin lay Excalibur aside & turned away. "No I'm the second one. But I am responsible for creating the first."

"That doesn't make sense. How can a non-vampire make a vampire? What the hell did you do?" John demanded. "Unleashing a curse like that onto the world? Are you responsible for creating the Lycan disease as well?"

"John," Sherlock warned.

"My wife," Merlin said.

"What?" John glared.

Merlin turned back to them, patting Excalibur one last time before sitting in a large armchair nearby. "I'm not responsible for Lycanthropy; although, it came about in a similar way as vampirism. Tampering with things one shouldn't & that sort of thing. Lycans came about a thousand years later from another sorcerer."

"How old are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Almost seven thousand years," Merlin said earning gasps from both of them. "Anyway, back to my wife. She was a young thing, half my age. I was in my late fifties by then. She was brutally murdered. I was a Mage back then. Out of sheer grief, I delved into black magic, necromancy, anything to raise her back. Nothing worked so I mixed several things. Only to unleash a horror. I got my wife back but at a terrible price. Paid in blood. I killed her murderer & used his blood in another spell I tried to raise her back. She came back craving blood to drink. I didn't understand why. A few days later, she turned on me & I became the second vampire. When I came back from the dead, we had another fight. Our wings were out. Her blood rage was out of control. So was mine though I didn't notice it at the time. Right then, all I could think of was that I had to stop her."

"That's how you found out it takes a wing ridge to kill another," John put in when Merlin stopped.

Merlin nodded. "She turned to ash before my eyes. I wanted to die with her but it was too late. I craved blood more than death. I turned others & they spread the disease. It spread as fast as Black Death, if not faster!" He put his head in his hands for a bit. "It was dreadful. The dead feeding on the living & it was all my fault. Worse I had to do that as well to live. Blood to us is like water to everyone else. Needed to survive. I hated myself. After a bloodbath that lasted a few centuries, I tried desperately to work on a cure. I formulated one & was able to attach the spell to Excalibur. But it didn't work."

"Because Excalibur is your own wing ridge," John mused.

"Exactly," Merlin sighed. "I had already turned my wife to ash & had no intention of trying to reverse that for fear of a worse horror than what I already accomplished. So, it got left on the sword."

"Didn't anyone try to use it before now?" John asked.

"Hardly anyone knew the sword was enchanted with a vampric cure," Merlin sat back, dejectedly. "It was a one time thing that was never activated until rumors started spreading. Micah got a hand on it. But it's been used now. You used the one & only cure. I can feel that it's gone from the sword whenever I handle it."

"His sister," John nodded at Sherlock. "She's human again."

"Some ingredients used to make the spell," Merlin began. "no longer exist. Unicorn blood was one thing. They're long extinct. So are a few herbs added to the mix. Excalibur was dipped into a cauldron I concocted the spell in, coating the blade with it. Excalibur sucked in every last drop. I didn't quite expect that. All it needed was a bit of blood from a Lycan's heart & vampric ash. Which you did apparently."

"Seeing as how the thing soaks everything up," John began. "That's why the cure can only be used once. Enola's body would have soaked it out of the sword."

"That's right," Merlin nodded. "I was never able to use it. Then wars broke out. Fights in the family. England couldn't agree on a King though I said Arthur was the one. So I stuck Excalibur into a rock & simply used a binding spell on it until Arthur came along. Then I let it slip. It was the only way to prove a point really. Eventually, the sword got lost for a while until Micah found it. I wrangled it back form him & buried it but he soon found the area. Maybe not the exact spot."

"That's why you let me know," John cut in. "You wanted me to save Excalibur from his clutches."

"Plus you're a Watson," Merlin nodded again, smiling softly, "That particular spell Excalibur had for curing vampires, rested in its blade until someone holding the blade tried to activate the spell. That person would be the caster of the current spell, or in your case a descendant could make it work."

"There's something I don't understand," Sherlock said. "Excalibur has destroyed vampires in the past. Lycans too, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then why wasn't the spell used up before now?"

"You need to add both at pretty much the same time," Merlin began. "Also, you can't destroy a vampire, then another vampire & then touch Lycan blood. It had to be vampire then Lycan, or vice versa, right away. Excalibur destroyed more vampires than I can ever count. I can however, count the Lycans it killed on my hands."

"So using the blade to destroy one vampire after another, kept the spell intact."

"There's one more fail safe," Merlin went on. "The spell is part verbal & must be started with that. Watson's ancestor did that bit, then tried to turn your sister to ash. He didn't make it. Right after, Excalibur was lost & buried, so it never fed on vampric ash or Lycan blood. Until John used it."

"Why did I have to act so fast then?" John asked. "The spell it self was started by my ancestor. Yet when I fed Excalibur my own Lycan blood by accident, I had to move or I'd lose it."

"Casting the verbal enchantment merely puts the spell into play. Your ancestor did that," Merlin said. "Feeding Excalibur on the other hand, actually triggered the spell into action. Without anything to feed on, the blade lay hungry, waiting to finish the spell. You did that, Also being a Watson, you were the only one that could since the spell was cast in your name. If anyone else had tried, the spell would have disintegrated & been lost for eternity."

"Sounds like Excalibur is alive," John smirked.

Merlin laughed out loud. "Nah it's just a wing ridge. But it's the best way to describe how the spell worked."

"You examined my sister more than once," Sherlock said. "You knew about this cure, yet you said nothing?"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up," Merlin said. "At the time, even I didn't know where Excalibur was. I was still tracing its history, trying to find it."

"That's why you were at least able to ease the pain a little," Sherlock went on. "You recognised the spell."

Merlin nodded. "A few things I used in that spell still existed. I was unable to recreate the cure at the time, but at least I could make a poultice for it." He looked back at John. "I didn't expect you to bring it back."

"Excalibur should be brought home."

"I thank you for it," Merlin nodded. He looked towards Sherlock & began talking Ingvaeonic. Sherlock replied in kind.

John waited until they were driving away before asking, "What did you two talk about?"

"He blames himself for me & my family being what we are," Sherlock said. "I told him otherwise, then reminded him of the cure that made my sister whole again."

John was surprised at how Sherlock described Enola being cured. "He must have seen things we can't even imagine. Well, technically speaking anyway."

"Yes, that was some rather impressive deducing coming from you."

John laughed. "I don't need as much training as you think."

"We'll see about that," was all Sherlock said.


	28. Chapter 28

**(28) John's Gift**

_**Ten months later**_

"Come on Hamish!" Harriet shouted down the hall. "Sherlock will be here any minute for you."

"Yeah yeah," John muttered. "I'm coming." He finally came into the living room pulling on a light cream & deep brown sweater. "You're lucky you're not active. Full moon's a bitch!"

"So am I," Harriet glared. "I don't need any sort of moon phase to prove it."

Clara came up behind him & whispered, "However agree with that...you die. Plain & simple." She giggled as she stepped past John. Harriet snagged her with one arm.

"Why are you both so mean to me?" John grumbled.

"I'm your big sister. It's my job. Deal with it."

"I'm her wife. I support her by default. Deal with it."

"You're human," John grinned a pointy smile.

"Bite me," Clara shrugged. "I dare you. Double dog dare you."

"Where's Sherlock?" John stepped outside, not falling for their trap.

Clara suddenly ran after him. "Oh I just remembered. He'll meet you at the café actually. Apparently he has some business in the area."

"Well that's about a ten minute walk," John jumped at the chance to get away from more teasing. "I'll grab a coffee in the meantime. See you in a few days."

"It's a wonder you just don't live at the castle, like what you did at the old flat," Harriet said. Her flirty undertone wasn't missed.

"You know I'm allergic to bee stings," John groused, ignoring the hidden implications. Mycroft must have gotten to her a long time ago.

"Not fatally," Harriet shrugged. "There's medicine for that anyway."

"Laters," John waved, kicking himself a moment later for sounding like Sherlock. Don't feed the fire! Grr. When he arrived at the café several minutes later, he sat down near the door after ordering coffee with a muffin. His order arrived a few minutes later with the muffin cut in half & set on a plate. He started into one half while reading the paper. John soon reached for the second half only to find an empty plate. He put the paper aside & looked at the plate then glanced up to see who had stolen his snack. His eyes landed on a large round golden gaze. "YOU!" John shot to his feet.

Mary gasped in surprised, turned around & made to run away. The muffin half in her hand dropped to the floor. "Sorry I, I didn't me—"

"Oh no you don't!" John grabbed the back of her coat collar & hauled her into the bench by the table. "Where are they?"

"W-W-Who?"

John's glare blazed gold. "Don't be coy. The pups, Mary. The pups! Sherlock told me all about your type."

"Oh-oh they're with uh with y-your sisters," Mary stammered. "I went there looking for you & they took over the pups while I came here. I just I—well I just wanted to see you first."

"So there's more than one?"

"Two."

"Boys? Girls?"

"One each."

"At least allow me the courtesy to help you name them!"

"I named the girl. You can name the boy."

John actually growled low under breath. Mary shrank back in fright. John sighed. To her, he probably seemed like a large dominant male, a war hero, a doctor & nothing more. Watson actually meant 'powerful warrior, watchman; to rule an army' so it definitely suited Mary's imagination. Probably why she seduced him in the first place. "What's her name?"

"Jessica?"

"Hmm, half decent," John smiled a moment before glaring again. "Unlike her mother."

"They were supposed to be a gift for you," Mary hung her head. "I didn't know you'd hate me so much."

"I don't hate you," John said. "I just don't like to be used. I'm a doctor not a..." He glanced around & lowered his voice. He hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm a doctor not a sperm bank!"

Mary curled up into her black velvet coat & looked away. "But you don't love me."

"You don't love me either!"

"That isn't true!" Mary got to her feet. "I wouldn't have mated with you if I didn't."

"You were in heat!" John shot back. He suddenly glanced around. People were staring. John cleared his throat & whispered. "This is neither the time or the place for this. I'll deal with you after full moon."

"John?"

John & Mary both looked around to see Sherlock. "That's Mary," John pointed.

"Ah yes," Sherlock came to look her over. Mary stepped back two times but John grabbed her elbow & yanked her forward at least three if not more. She ended up nose to nose with Sherlock Holmes. "I've looked at your case & you're right. Your mother was murdered. By your father." Mary gasped, putting both hands over her mouth. "He was human & didn't like the fact he married a monster. He tried to get rid of both of you."

Mary finally managed to step back a little, shaking her head. "No no, that isn't true! Daddy wouldn't have done that! He died first!"

"He's still alive," Sherlock said. "Don't worry I managed to put him behind bars if you ever want to see him."

"What?" Mary looked at the floor, weeping. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Weeping women weren't his thing.

John took pity on her. "Why don't you come to the castle with me for the full moon? The pups won't change right now. My sisters can watch them."

"Oh yes," Sherlock remembered. "You're a father now."

"Twins," John said. "A girl named Jessica. There's also a boy, Derek." He glanced at Mary but she offered no resistance. "Derek's a good name."

"If you say so," Sherlock shrugged. Pups weren't his thing either. It merely meant more honeycomb to dish out & more work in training the damn things. "We should head out. Are you bringing her or not?"

John put one hand on Mary's arm. "I'm not letting her out of my sight!" He steered her forward towards the car. Once on their way, he said to Mary who had been silent the whole time. "We could go see him after the full moon?"

"I don't want to," Mary sniffled, wiping away some tears. "He can rot in...in, Mr. Holmes. How can that be true?"

"Humans can be stupid," Sherlock answered. He glanced at John. "Mary's mother was bitten by a vampire, Jock Cortés. Hired by a human, Mary's father, to get rid of her. He's now a pile of ash, compliments of Mary's father."

"The world descending into anarchy," John sat back in his seat.

"So we're all just monsters? Is that it?" Mary managed to say.

"Only if you make yourself one."

"He's right," John agreed. "Look at Micah or Dracula, then look at us. It's how you behave that defines you." John's voice was cut short as the car jerked to a halt. He put a hand on the dashboard to steady himself. He glanced around. Sherlock stared straight ahead. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"Stay in the car," Sherlock released his seatbelt & got out.

"What?"

"Just stay there," Sherlock repeated. "I'll be right back."

John watched Sherlock run down the street. "I wonder what that's about."

Sherlock kept himself hidden as he followed two people down the street. They both turned down another lane, out of John's sight, with Sherlock silently following close behind. The pair came up to a white Cadillac & were about to get in. Sherlock finally stepped out from the hedge he had been staying near.

"Well Woman, you finally returned to England."

Irene whirled around. "Get in the car, Katie." She stepped forward to block Sherlock's path. "What do you want?"

Sherlock cocked his head, looking curiously at her in his childlike way. He put both hands into his pockets of his long black coat. "You."

"Why?"

"Because you're human."

"You told me once you don't need me for feeding on," Irene said. "So why?"

"I just told you."

Irene sighed, frustrated. She turned to the car. "I'm taking Katie home."

Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder. "She can take herself home. I want you to come with me for a while."

"Are you hiring me?" Irene muttered. "My price has gone up in the past year."

Sherlock whipped her around to face him. "No, Woman. You're free for me. You always have been. But that isn't why I want you."

Irene shook her head. "What do you want?"

"Send the girl home," Sherlock nodded towards Katie sitting in the car. "I have to show you something. Please don't judge me until you know all the facts."

"You're a vampire," Irene said. "A vampire who's a contradiction. You're actually not interested in my neck. What more is there to know?"

Sherlock pulled her close, hand on her wrist as he had done many years before. He whispered, "Why do you think I felt your pulse? Something I don't have. Something that excites me beyond reasoning."

Irene gasped. She felt sharp points pricking her neck in a teasing nip. Sherlock stepped back. Irene grabbed the spot. "What the hell was that?"

"Relax, if I had turned you, you'd really be screaming. It really hurts to turn," Sherlock smiled at her. He knew the game was afoot again!

"Katie, go home."

"Mistress?"

"I'll see you in a day or two," Irene said distractedly, lowering her hand. Quickly glancing at it told her that he had not drawn blood. This time. Sherlock took her hand & led her back to his own car.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" John grumbled, clamouring over the top of the seat to flop headfirst into Mary's lap in the back seat. He righted himself. "Not her!" He whined worse than his two pups left behind could ever do together.

"Nice to see you to Doctor!" Irene shot back, getting into the seat he was just in. "Ooh, you've kept my spot warm. Perhaps you can warm me up later." John didn't bother to hide his fangs as he growled.

"John shut up!" Sherlock began to drive. John snorted & licked his chops. He kept his gold gaze on the woman. "John! I said shut it. NOW!" Sherlock glared in the mirror, his eyes flickering red. John sat back without another word although he did cross his arms.

"Is he ok?" Irene asked.

"Is he ever?" Sherlock pointed out.

They drove in silence for a while before John got up the nerve to speak again. "By the way Sherlock, after all this time, you still never did explain to me how to pull in the fangs like you do?"

"Wolves can't do that."

"What do you mean?"

"Your incisors are much smaller," Sherlock explained. "Vampire fangs are long enough to stick out. Just don't smile to widely. No one will notice."

"Well that's miserably unfair!"

"Life sucks," Sherlock grinned. Irene cast him an unsure look.

John leaned forward to sniff the back of Sherlock's neck. "How many bites does it take to destroy a vampire again?"

"Don't you dare!" Sherlock actually lost control of the car for a moment. He yanked it back in line. "Sit down & stay there until we get to the helicopter." John sat back with a laugh.


	29. Chapter 29

**(29) Sherlock's Secret**

They arrived at the ancient castle in the early evening. Sherrinford cast a surprised glance at Irene then looked questioningly at his remaining brother. Sherlock merely shook his head, pushing the human girl inside before him. The wolves disappeared into the forest to get ready for full moon. Sherlock led Irene through the castle, letting her see the history painted on the walls. He took a longer route for the stairs leading to the bedrooms above by going through the hall of Titanic.

Irene put a hand to the up-ended stern, tracing its outline. "Mycroft was on this." Sherlock stood behind her. She felt his hands rest on her hips. "Micah said he would kill me."

"He wanted to attack us any way he could," Sherlock said. "Titanic for Mycroft. That place we were in was our hometown eons ago. Our parents were burned alive near the place where Enola's cross was. My mere interest in you nearly cost you your life. I'm sorry." He turned away & began moving for the stairs.

"Why did Micah hate you so much?"

"Mycroft destroyed most of his vampire family many ages ago."

"Payback."

"Well he tried," Sherlock said, opening a door to one bedroom. "He only managed to bring Adrian down. Micah didn't plan on John using Excalibur on him."

"That sword was Excalibur?" Irene exclaimed.

Sherlock nodded. "It's actually a vampire ridge from Merlin himself." He explained.

Irene sat on the edge of the King-sized bed. "Your kind are everywhere in legend it seems." After a moment she asked, "Where's Dracula?"

"Dead," Sherlock said. "And I mean dead! Destroyed. A pile of ash. He was the most vicious creature alive & hard to kill. Many vampires, Lycans & humans died before that was accomplished."

"So stories about him are true," Irene said.

"Quite true," Sherlock rummaged around in a drawer. He pulled out a small book & sat down next to Irene. He began showing her the pages. It was a photo album. The pictures were mostly black & white, yellowed with age. Mycroft was in most of them, along with two young girls. The last few pictures had Titanic in them as well.

"There are so few actual pictures of that ship above water," Irene mused. "Mostly the movies come up instead. Ever thought of releasing these? No pictures like them exist."

"Well before, it would be kind of hard to explain," Sherlock shrugged. "But now that the word is out, it wouldn't matter any more. In fact, it would probably be amusing to see the results. New Titanic conspiracy. What caused the ship to go down? An ancient Egyptian mummy's curse or Dracula? Read more to find out!"

Irene laughed. "You've got a point there."

"I'm definitely going to do that now," Sherlock laughed as well.

Irene suddenly glanced around. "We're in Mycroft's room, aren't we?"

"Mhm," Sherlock stood up, taking her hand. The book was left on the bed. "Come with me." He led her down the hall & into another bedroom. "Shane will watch over the pack tonight. They can't get in here so you'll be safe."

Irene glanced to the open window. "I can hear them howling."

"They're all changed by now," Sherlock said. "Once changed, they have no reasoning. You'll be ripped apart if you go outside before morning. They won't harm vampires, but you're just a meal waiting to happen."

"Is that why you brought me here, to feed me to the wolves?" Irene teased. She hoped she was just teasing. What if that was it?

"Maybe," Sherlock teased back.

Irene turned to look at him, horrified. She noticed Sherlock lying on the bed. He was completely naked & had his head tucked down on one arm. His other hand was up over & behind his head, black curls slightly splayed out. The scene looked vaguely familiar. "What are you doing?"

"We're not in Adrian's room any more."

Irene clasped her hands in front of her as she quickly surveyed the area. There wasn't much in this room, unlike Mycroft's room; though she did notice the familiar riding crop Sherlock had, lying across the top of the nightstand next to his bed, on the same side she was. "We're in yours." Irene stepped forward & picked up the crop. She held it by the ends in each hand. Sherlock merely put his face down a little lower, watching her. She suddenly understood why this looked familiar. "Nice try," She put the whip's end under his chin to force him to look up at her. She acted as if she was analyzing his neck. "but you don't even have the Heart Of The Ocean around your neck. You're cute at best."

"Cute?" Insulted, Sherlock huffed. He jerked his chin away from his own riding crop. "Well I'm not a girl. Why would I have that stupid diamond that isn't even a diamond anyway?"

"What do you mean, it isn't a diamond?"

"It's a sapphire really & Celine Dion's."

"Oh right," Irene said, lowing the whip away. "I forgot. What? I'm not THAT much into Titanic's history. Katie would know more than me."

Sherlock sat up enough to grab her hand. He lay back quickly, yanking Irene on top of him. Irene stuck the riding crop between them. It lay straight between his pecks, the small loop under his chin while the point ended below. Sherlock gasped slightly at the cold leather rod made contact with his length. "Oh now, don't be like that with me. I know you're secretly a romantic. Predictable as ever. Most females are."

Irene's lips came close to his. "So are you & don't lie about it."

Sherlock scoffed. "Romance is over-rated. After two thousand years of it, you'll bore quickly."

"Ah so all any vampire needs is a good hard fuck then?" Irene smiled at Sherlock's surprise. "What, you don't think a lady can swear? I'm a harlot, remember?" She leaned in close to whisper. "I'm not that classy."

Sherlock slid his hands around to her back & fiddled with the clasp of her dress. "You don't swear because you're a harlot; you swear because that's your masculinity kicking in."

"My masculinity?" Irene arched an eyebrow.

"You are the more dominant one, always telling Katie to do things, like keep away from me."

Irene let out a breath. "I suppose."

Sherlock finally got the back of the dress open. Irene pushed herself up on her palms against his pecks to let it fall down her arms. He pushed the top down to her waist as she lay down again, crushing her breasts against his flat chest, the whip firmly dead center of them both. They lay in silence for a while. Sherlock rubbed her spine up & down with his fingertips. Irene tried to hide it, but she was tense around him. He knew sex was the last thing she was afraid of. It was what he was that put her off. A creature of the night. Sherlock broke the silence. "Why did you leave?"

Irene took a long time in answering. "I don't know." Her head dead center of his chest, his riding crop between them, she slowly traced a few circles along his collarbone with her fingernail.

Sherlock covered her hand with his own. "I frighten you."

Irene lifted her head & moved up a little. Their lips nearly touching, she whispered, "A little." Sherlock passed his hands up her bare arms & around her back. He massaged her shoulder blades, waiting. Irene lowered her face, touching her forehead to his lips. "I was thrown from a world I know into a very dark world, just like that. It altered my view of everything. I even avoid Titanic now."

"You needed time to get used to the fact my kind exist."

"John's to," Irene added. "Now whenever I see a stranger, even on the street, my first thought is: Human, vampire or wolf? My second is...perhaps something worse."

"That's why you left."

"I took Katie with me," Irene said. "But no matter where I go, I have no idea how to keep her safe." They lay in the dark silence for several minutes, unmoving but for Sherlock's constant stroking of her exposed back.

"You don't have to do that," Sherlock finally said. "I won't hurt her for the simple fact that I don't need to. If I truly must threaten you to do something, I'll just confiscate your mobile." Irene actually snickered in spite of herself. After she settled, he went on. "I do not need her blood. Or yours. Vampires control ninety percent of the blood banks worldwide. Blood types that can actually be used on humans are passed on. We merely bottle & drink the rest as if it were wine."

Irene sighed, slowly relaxing as Sherlock continued to rub her back. "Vampires need love to," she suddenly said. "Why else did Mycroft try to raise two children? I'm sure he would have been a good father to them, but for Titanic. That's why you brought me to his room first. Why show me such things if you don't believe it yourself?"

"I merely fed your mild interest in the ship," Sherlock defended.

"Sure you did," Irene sat up, straddling his hips, sensing his erection pressing against the whip's end between them. She felt Sherlock suck in a breath & then noticed two small red glowing spots. They winked in & out of existence a few times as Sherlock arched his back under her.

"Don't move, you'll get cut."

Irene felt Sherlock's hands slide under knees to lift her up a little. Something large was moving out from under him. It was pale color. Irene's first thought was that the sheets had come alive. Sherlock suddenly sighed & lay flat again, a wing spread out on either side. He twisted his body a little so that Irene was forced to lift off. She rolled sideways to find her self on leathery membrane with hard ridges positioned throughout. She held the riding crop along one ridge as Sherlock worked off the rest of her dress & stripped her naked. She suddenly felt his fingers between her legs but only for a moment. He lay partly over her side, his right wing stretched out so that she was lying on it, his other wing curled over them like a surfer's wave, covering them both. She saw the two red spots analyzing something. Sherlock intently stared as his fingers & then licked them clean.

"What are you doing?"

"If I tell you, I'll end up thrown out of my own house."

"William."

"Please not the first name!"

The tip of the whip came up to jab at his cheek. "Then tell me what you're doing ...William...or I'll crack a wing."

The two red eyes regarded her for a moment. "You started the feminine cycle tonight."

"Great," Irene groaned. "I knew I was due sooner or later. I'm sorry."

Sherlock stared at her as he started laughing. He pushed the whip away. "You're starting to bleed in front of a vampire, yet you say you're sorry?"

"Right," Irene smacked her brow. "That was quite the oxymoron, wasn't it?"

"Mhm," Sherlock still laughed before adding, "I thought we could share this night in blood," he went on. "Vampire wings, as you saw, are sharp on the edges & at every point. It cuts every time they're released. The leftover ache is a constant dull throbbing."

"You're bleeding right now too?"

"Mhm," Sherlock rolled them both back, pulling her over him again. He had somehow lifted her forward so that she ended up sitting over his chest. He stretched out under her, hands above his head pressing up against the pillows. Irene put both hands onto the front of his shoulders & stroked towards the tops of them, then inward to his throat. She moved her hips downward & met Sherlock's thrust into her. She bore down against him as both wingtips curled upwards. Sherlock's fingertips dug into the pillow. A long deep howl drifted in through the open window. Sherlock groaned against Irene as he worked his way deeper. "Oh Gods John, shut up! Not right now!" The howl continued. John apparently didn't hear.

"You know his howl?" Irene stopped moving.

"I know all of them," Sherlock sat up, holding her tightly with both hands as he swished his wings over. He lay Irene down on the sheets & took over. "All nine of them. Mary's a guest so I'll know hers simply by hearing a new howl. Hmm, about time." The deep sound ended abruptly. Sherlock went back to work as if nothing happened. Irene would just have to grasp the moment again.

Irene felt his pressure between her legs but he didn't enter. He began working himself down, leaving feather light kisses on the dorsal line, starting on her lips, then between her breasts & slowly downward. His wings flicked forward. The tips pressed together above Irene's head framed nearly her entire body in an upside-down heart shape. Sherlock raised his head for a moment, moon light bouncing off his hair. He curled back his lips for a moment, exposing the fangs.

Irene sat bolt right up. "Sherlock wait stop!"

Sherlock gave her a pointed grin. "You still don't trust me, do you?" They shared a look, Irene searching his gleaming red eyes. "Will you relax?"

"You...won't hurt me?"

"Of course I will," Sherlock said. "You & I both know you like it as rough as I do."

"... Sherlock ..."

Sherlock felt Irene tremble between his hands on her hips. "You're not asking the right questions, Woman."

"And what would they be?" Irene demanded in a quiet voice.

"Will I kill you? Will I drain you of blood & therefore your life? Will I torture & impale you on my wings like Dracula? Or worse, inject my venom into your system & turn you?" Sherlock said, feeling Irene withdraw more with each question. He forced her to lie down again, stretching out over her. "The answer to most of those questions is no." He kissed her lips, shushing any further protests. "Relax." He moved down again, pressings his wingtips together to keep her dead center of their heart-shape. She suddenly felt his lips between her legs. She felt a soft suckling & his tongue lick at her blood. He raised his head. "Hmm menstrual blood doesn't quite taste the same as from the vein." He kissed her abdomen just below the belly button. "Relax. You're doing fine." Sherlock went down again. Irene felt his kiss on her entrance as before, then it quickly changed. She arched her back as his sabers suddenly nipped at her labia, stretching it out a little. She felt a soft sucking sensation again. He was driving her crazy, keeping her on edge.

"Sherlock!" Irene gasped, gripping the sheets on other side with her hands. At least she tried to. The sheets were slippery, soaked in his blood from the wing wounds on his back. Sherlock continued to alternate between nipping & stretching the tender flesh & drinking in her monthly blood. She partly sat up & tried to wrap her ankles around him but the insides of his wings were in the way. Irene had to settle for grabbing him on either side with her toes as she rocked her hips up & down. She grabbed the tied back curtains on either side of the bed instead. They didn't slide out of her hands. She felt poles of the headboard where the ties were attached. John's howl sounded again, more distantly.

Sherlock pushed Irene back, laying over her. His wings swept back to hover above them as he pressed in. "You'd think he'd have better things to do since Mary's here than bay at a chunk of rock in the sky."

They both stopped for a moment to giggle. Irene took that chance to turn them around. Sherlock was once more under her. Irene laid the riding crop against his throat. She held it down at either end. "Don't move," she whispered, leaning forward. She let go the crop & grabbed his wrists, one in each hand. Using a silk rope from the bed's right curtain, she bound Sherlock's hands to the headboard. Irene sat back, grabbing hold of the whip at both ends once more, still lying across his throat & looked down at him. The moon had moved, casting light across most of his bed. She saw him quite clearly, from his ice-blue wings stretched out to his red gaze watching her every move.

"You still fear me," Sherlock's voice was so low, she almost didn't hear it. "We don't have to do this now, Woman. I can wait."

Irene forced her gaze to meet that red gleam. She mentally kicked herself. What was she doing? She knew this beast was stronger than she was, not just because he was male. She knew he could easily rip himself free & shred her in seconds. She had no chance against a supernatural strength like this. He had merely allowed her to do as she pleased with him. If it came down to strength alone though, she knew she never would have managed such a feat as tying him down without getting herself killed. Irene had once thought she had this man's virginity. Now she suddenly realised that she was dealing with over two thousand years experience. Experience, she further understood, that involved a certain gentleness. Vampire with human. In that moment, Irene knew just how much Sherlock held back all these years simply so he wouldn't cause her very death. What did he want her for?

Yet here he lay under her, obediently, letting her have—letting her THINK so—complete control. Sherlock waited in compliance as she looked him over. He truly was stripped naked. Irene knew that, if vampires did have such a thing, she was seeing his very soul laid out to her. Holding the crop against his throat with her right hand, she grated her fingernails of her left hand down. "I'm ok." Irene eventually had to move to reach all the way. She put the whip's end against his heart as if it were a wooden stake while she dragged her nails down & then under to grip both his plums. She dug in until she knew blood was drawn.

Sherlock drew in shuddering breaths as he tried not to move. His head hit the pillow as Irene scraped along his length & then teased the tip of his cock. She held the whip firmly against the heart. Both knew it wouldn't destroy him. But Sherlock understood her play. Wooden stakes were falsely thought of as a way to destroy vampires. She had told him not to move & reinforced that fact with a little pressure to her 'stake'.

Irene continued to tease him for a few minutes. She pulled the riding crop down, pressing its tip along the dorsal line. As she pulled the end past the area of dark long hair, she suddenly pressed down hard. The riding crop struck home, hitting a nerve. Sherlock's entire body went into a paroxysm as a prolonged cry escaped through his gritted teeth. His wings arched under him, pushing his back up. He collapsed with a gasp. Irene felt his wings vibrating under her. Laying over him again, Irene put her hands down on either side, touching the pale membrane. She lightly stroked the inner wings, closer to his body. Sherlock twitched under her. She looked up as he tried to hide a gasp. "Vampire wings are sensitive aren't they?"

"They can be quite...erogenous...in some spots."

"Really?" Irene raised a brow as she reached for the riding crop again. She held the handle near the loop & used the other end to stretch outward along his nearly thirty-foot wingspan. Irene felt Sherlock's breath quicken as she lightly touched certain spots. She soon noticed that any place within an inch of the liquid steel ridges had more effect when touched. The wings would ripple around the whip's end as it lightly passed over.

Feeling Sherlock start to pull against his bound wrists, Irene sat over him, grinding down against his thrusts as they finally began slaking their basic lust from each other. The slight stinging pain in her flesh from being nipped & stretched almost enough to birth a baby, only fuelled Irene's need more. The riding crop slid to the side & rolled off the bed. Sherlock's wings curled upward & Irene gripped the edges of both, one in each hand as they came together. Her palms cut a little against the wing edges. Smelling new blood, Sherlock instinctively pulled free from the silk rope & caught her as she collapsed into his arms. His wings wilted to either side of the bed.

Sherlock pulled both her hands to his lips & began sucking in the blood. He licked both wounds clean until they began to dry out. He then pushed Irene to one side & collapsed his wings into his back before curling up next to her to sleep.

Irene woke late the next morning to find herself alone in the large bed. She sat up, hearing water pour down in an adjacent room. Irene stood up, glancing back at the bloodied sheets. She was covered in dried blood as well. She followed a trail of blood footprints towards the water in the next room. It was a large washroom, with a bath wide enough for three people to sit side by side. Its glass doors were closed. A humming bird sipping a red flower was on each door in cut stained pieces of glass. They were facing each other & the stem of the two flowers was the seam between the doors. Sherlock was inside a cloud of steam, washing off his own blood. Irene noticed a bottle on the counter by the sink. It was a tall green glass. Tipping it forward, a drop of blood landed on her finger. She put the bottle back where it was & watched Sherlock through the glass. Suddenly, a thought came to her. She opened the doors, reached in & pulled on a curl of his hair.

Sherlock actually squeaked like a kitten & turned around, hissing through four larger sharp teeth. He pulled them away the next moment. "Woman, you must be the only human in the world crazy enough to do that to a vampire!"

Not caring, Irene crossed her arms. "What did you mean last night that MOST of those questions were a no?"

"One is a maybe," Sherlock stepped back to let Irene in. "In case you decide you wish to become immortal. I left the option open."

"Immortal?"

"If you wish," Sherlock said. "I can grant it. I am a vampire after all."

Irene took a moment to absorb that. Immortal? Become a vampress? ..._IMMORTAL?!_...She noticed that Sherlock held back again, even for that, instead of simply turning her. "Oh so, you're waiting for permission?" Irene stepped in & closed the door.

"Unlike some people, I ask first," Sherlock said, handing her the soap. "Being a vampire is painful physically & mentally. Not everyone wants to turn. People you know die. You find Lycan friends, but they'll die in a few centuries, a thousand years tops. People fear you. Hate you. Don't bother trying to understand," Sherlock decided to change the subject. "You're more covered in my blood than I am."

"We did roll around a lot," Irene took the bar.

"I do ask one thing though," Sherlock went on. "Wait a while before you decide. There is something here you should see first."

With a nail, Irene lifted a few of Sherlock's more personal hairs between his legs. "Hmm, I can't imagine what more you have show me." Sherlock stood straight, glaring at her. "Well, I'm just saying." She let the hairs fall back into place, failing epically to hide a giggle.

"Hysterical," Sherlock was anything but amused. Irene snickered at him as she pushed past to reach for the showerhead. She lifted it off with one hand but suddenly found herself pressed against the glass doors as two millennia of experience entered her from behind. Sherlock wedged her firmly between himself & the wall as he pressed one hand between her breasts to hold her. His other hand ended up between her legs. Using the inner side of his wrist, he rubbed her flesh while feeling himself inside her at the same time. Irene noticed that the showerhead was set to its hardest setting & pushed it between them. Sherlock cried out as the water's force hit both of them. Irene would have doubled over if she wasn't wedged between him & the door. She nearly dropped the showerhead but Sherlock removed his other hand from her breasts downward to catch it. Irene barely registered how quick a vampire's reflexes were as he held the showerhead & her hand in place while still using his other wrist to rub them both. Neither of them lasted more than a few minutes in that tight embrace of vibration which left both of them gasping.

Sherlock worked on her long hair, washing out the dried blood. Irene held up her hair as he started to rinse it off. "You're far more sexual than I first thought."

"Most vampires are," Sherlock said distractedly, focusing on a knot in her hair.

"But I've only ever seen your human side," Irene went on. "I think this is the first time I actually see through you."

"Yet you thought you & Jim had me all figured out a few years ago." When Irene didn't answer, he went on. "You do know how lucky you are that you didn't end up as dead as Jim, right? Taking on vampires, one rarely survives."

"I almost didn't," Irene said. "Look at what Myc...never mind." She felt like kicking herself. She had been gone from Britain entirely for almost a year. No goodbyes. No word. She felt foolish mentioning the name.

"You're lucky I spied on Adrian as much as I did," Sherlock said. "The moment I found out what he was up to, I went after you."

"Thank you," Irene said quietly. "Why?"

"You were as much a victim of James Moriarty as the rest of us were," Sherlock. "I aimed to turn you, not as a vampire but on your choice of life."

"How are you doing, after...after Mycr..."

Sherlock turned her around to face him. "Don't say you understand. Don't say you know how I feel. You don't get to spend almost three thousand years with someone. At least not yet. You could not understand something like that without going through it yourself."

The subject of Mycroft officially closed, they stepped out of the shower & began drying each other off. Irene rubbed Sherlock's back with a towel. "Where exactly are your wings anyway?" She ran her left palm over his smooth, rather human, back.

"They're a semi-solid biological substance when inside," Sherlock said. "Watch, I'll open them a bit." Sherlock focused on his wings & pushed them out barely enough to open the wounds. Irene stepped back as she saw a liquid silver coalescing just inside the angry tears on each side, running diagonally from the shoulder blades down to the tailbone. Red ribbons of sinew still laced back & forth between the sides of both wounds. The silver behind the gore soon mixed with red, then was replaced by it as Sherlock bled from both wounds. He stood straight & the wounds closed. He didn't let the wings out, only opened enough to see what they were like before forming. "Liquid steel, we call it, though I can cut a diamond to dust with these."

"That looked horrible," Irene gasped.

"It felt worse," Sherlock grumbled, leading her back to the bedroom to get dressed. Irene's white dress was stained. She left it with the bed to be cleaned later. Dressed in his black velvet vest over a white shirt, complete with black trousers to match, Sherlock led Irene, in nothing but a towel, to another bedroom. "This is Enola's. You two are almost exactly the same size so borrow something of hers." Irene found a deep violet, nearly black, dress to put on & then followed Sherlock through the castle. They met with Sherrinford for a moment & after confirming that all Lycans were now changed back & sleeping, Sherlock safely led Irene outside. They went through a small woods up into an enclosed meadow with trees all around.

Irene followed Sherlock through odd-shaped stones. She stopped at one that seemed to have a grave dug in front of it. The stone seemed brand new compared to the crumpled bits all around. It was placed in front of an old stone & had Mycroft's full name & dates on it. "We're in a cemetery?"

Sherlock nodded. "We redid Adrian's grave here. Some of his things are buried there. A picture of the children. His rivet he scavenged from Titanic's stricken side. A few other things." Sherlock continued through the set of graves & crossed the meadow completely. He sat down cross-legged in front of another set of graves. There were four in all.

Irene stood behind him. She tried to read but the stones were so old, as was the language, that it didn't make sense to her. "Who are these?"

"In today's language, Elizabeth," Sherlock pointed to the grave on the left. "My wife." Irene stared at him. "These three," Sherlock went on from left to right. "Our daughter Esther. She was five years old. Then our twin sons, Alexander & Dominic. They were three years old."

"...Vampires?" Irene finally managed to asked; though somehow she knew the answer.

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "I was turned just two weeks before this happened. I never told her. Didn't know how & then ended up not having to. Elizabeth died first, thank God. They were her soul. Burying our children is not something she would have survived." He folded his hands under his chin & stared into the past. "I barely did. Lowering each of their caskets killed me like no vampric affliction ever could. Yet I did...all three of them...within the space of two days. Dominic first, a week after his mother. Two days later, Esther & then Alexander not even an hour later. "

"What killed them?"

Sherlock put his face in his hands & whispered. "England was so plagued back then. Just so plagued."

"Plagued? Plagued!" Irene took a few steps back. "My God! The Black Death?"

Sherlock looked back at her. "Woman, this is almost three thousand years ago. The foulness in this ground is long since gone!"

Irene slowly came back. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You've seen far too much."

"Don't I know it," Sherlock said under breath as he looked up at her. Irene could see his eyes were wet. "Now do you understand?" He went on in a low voice. "You once wished for John & I to be together, as did most of this country. That can't happen. He's a wolf. I'm not into wolves. Or vampires. I just want you. A human."

"Like your family," Irene finally understood. "It's how you hang on to whatever humanity you have left. How you keep the demon at bay."

"Precisely," Sherlock stood up. "Now you can decide. But remember, I only ever want a human mate. I will grant any request you have for turning, but I would cut you down to only my friend afterward." He walked away leaving Irene to stare at the graves filled with Black Death's victims; leaving her to decide: his love or immortality. She could not have both. In that moment, Irene realised just how cruel a vampire could be. The next moment, she cast that angry thought aside. It was good that he could control himself. What more could she want? Another Dracula? She looked across the meadow at Sherlock, who had paused a moment before Mycroft's remade grave. Without even looking at her, Sherlock soon continued towards the trail & disappeared.

Irene looked back at the graves of his family. She could hardly imagine what it would be like to lower the caskets yourself for your own children; especially ones so young, taken in such a brutal way. She looked back to the trees where Sherlock disappeared. He was probably gone to see John & Mary. Irene half-smiled to herself. At least the boys were getting along again.

The fans of the CSI Baker Boys were nervous during the fallout between the pair & over-joyed when Sherlock & John finally made amends. With Lestrade's pushing, it was inevitable that the pair would go back to work someday. For now, they were content rebuilding their bond, friendly only though it was, & work with the honeybees. They were simply taking a break; taking time to work things out. Irene looked down at the four graves by her feet. A lot of things out, for Sherlock anyway.

His love or immortality.

Knowing what her choice would be, Irene headed back for the castle.

_-Finish_

* * *

_(For those who want to see what happened, please feel free to read the one-shot "Irene's Choice" For those who want to make up their own minds, leave a review to tell me "your" choice. I'm curious to know who would pick what.)_


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